99 Bottles of Beer On the Wall
by Alice Day
Summary: Brass, Catherine, Lindsey and a very reluctant Ellie find themselves on a somewhat unplanned "family" vacation, and run into trouble in a little town called Jackpot. Jim/Catherine, and the third in a series.
1. Chapter 1

Entry #3 in the "A Year in the Life" series. The Brillows clan takes a somewhat unplanned family vacation, and run into trouble in a little mountain town called Jackpot. You know the drill -- CSI is not my sandbox. If it were, they would've resolved the Ellie issue by now, dammit.

* * *

99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall  
by Alice Day

* * *

CHAPTER ONE

"Are we there yet?"

Catherine Willows looked over the seat back at her daughter and gave her the Maternal Look of Death. "If you say that again, I'm tying you to the luggage rack," she warned.

"No, you won't," Lindsey said smugly, "because that's child endangerment. Besides, Jim wouldn't let you."

"Try me, kiddo," Jim Brass muttered under his breath.

Catherine gave him a sympathetic smile, and he shrugged. He'd had the weekend all planned out -- they'd check out from the PD and Crime Lab, drive to a secluded cabin far enough away from Las Vegas that nothing short of a nuclear attack could require their early return, and spend their first Valentine's Day together. It was going to be spectacular.

And then Glitch Number One happened -- Lily's best friend Mabel suffered a mild stroke, requiring Lily to head down to McLaughlin and keep an eye on her. While Lindsey did her best to convince Catherine that she could take care of herself for a weekend, Brass couldn't blame the CSI supervisor for shooting down that particular idea.

Still, there was a certain twinge of regret when the love of his life announced that Lindsey would just have to come with them. _So much for a romantic weekend._

So the Charger stayed in the garage, and he rented a Toyota Highlander instead. Which turned out to be a stroke of genius, as he peeked in the rear view mirror at the other inhabitant of the back seat. "You okay, Ellie?"

His daughter lowered the gossip magazine she was reading and gave him a disgusted look. "That's the ninth time you asked me that since we left Vegas, Dad. I'm still fine."

"Yeah, sorry."

Glitch Number Two happened yesterday morning, when his doorbell rang. He opened the door to find Ellie standing there in a black leather jacket and jeans, a backpack slung over one shoulder. The black hair dye he remembered from LA was gone, and she was back to being honey blonde.

"Hi, Dad," she said. "Sorry about not calling first -- I wanted to surprise you."

His heart skipped a beat. "Ellie."

She gave him a crooked grin. "That's what you named me. So, can I come in or what?"

"Uh, yeah, sure." He stood back, gesturing her inside. "But you should've called -- I would've picked you up."

"No biggie -- I took a cab." She put her backpack next to the door and faced him. "I got the weekend off, so I thought maybe we could go out for Valentine's Day, get dinner and a movie or something. My treat."

A year ago, he would have recoiled from the idea of eating a meal paid for by Ellie selling her body. Of course, a year ago Ellie would have preferred turning tricks to spending an evening with him. But then she showed up in Vegas unexpectedly last December, greeting him at a coffee house with the emotional bomb that she knew about Mike O'Toole being her biological father. In desperation, Brass asked her -- begged, really -- to stay at his place so that they could talk.

He still felt sick when he remembered her coming into his bedroom that night, offering to have sex with him as a twisted way of "payback" for supporting her. He'd kept it together long enough to pick her up and toss her back into her own bed, then spent the rest of the night locked in his room, agonizing over what would happen in the morning. Or if she'd even be there.

As it turned out, she was, and they settled down into a long, halting, painful and extremely overdue talk that consumed four hours, two boxes of Kleenex, a bag of chocolate chip cookies (her) and three glasses of Scotch (him). _I dunno -- maybe it was my version of having a baby or something. It hurt like a bitch, but I finally had my kid back._

Afterwards he asked her to stay, but Ellie insisted on going back to LA. By early January she was off the streets, seeing a therapist recommended by Sara (and quietly underwritten by Brass), and working as a bartender in some club in West LA. As part of her therapy, she also wrote him weekly letters; it was easier to communicate with him that way, she'd said. He had each treasured letter saved in his gunbox, and wrote back every Sunday.

Her last letter included memories of an impromptu trip the two of them once took to Atlantic City on Valentine's Day when Nancy was "busy." Belatedly, he realized it should've clued him in to Ellie's intentions. _Why is it that I can tell what a scumbag is thinking just by the way he twitches, but I have no idea what's going through my own kid's head? God, I stink as a father._

Brass rubbed his hand along his hip, feeling like a complete shit for what he had to say next. "Um," he muttered. "Honey, I'd love to have dinner with you, but..."

A shadow of disappointment flashed across her face. "Don't tell me -- you're working," she snapped.

"No. But I had plans," he said lamely.

"Oh." She pressed her lips together, visibly trying to control her bitterness. "Oh. Yeah, I should've called first, huh? Okay, never mind -- I'll catch a bus back to LA."

"No, wait." He took a deep breath. This could get ugly if he didn't play it right. "I'm going on a road trip. With my girlfriend, and her kid."

"Your...girlfriend?" she said slowly. "And she's got a kid? What kind?"

"Daughter," he admitted.

His heart broke a little at the hurt flooding her eyes, and he hurried on. "It's all kind of a last minute thing. But listen, there's room for one more. Come with us."

She shook her head, backing away. "Dad--"

"Ellie, please." He kept his hands at his sides, fighting the urge to hug her and not let go. "I really want you to meet Catherine, and her daughter Lindsey, and I want them to meet you. Or -- hey, did you meet Catherine when I was in the hospital?"

A shadow crossed her face. "No. That Grissom guy and Lenny Kravitz were the only ones who talked to me," she said, using her nickname for Warrick. "Is she a cop?"

"No, she's a CSI. I think you'll like her, honey. And I want you to come. It'll be fun -- I rented a cabin near the Idaho border, and there's a little lake nearby for skating, and you can even go skiing if you want, and we can just...relax. Talk, or not, whatever you want." He tried a smile. "I really want you to come, Ellie. Consider it a Valentine from your old pop."

After a very long moment, she sighed and nodded. "All right. But I didn't bring any cold weather stuff."

Brass felt a load lift. "Well, I guess we gotta go shopping, then, don't we?"

One extended shopping trip and twenty-six hours later, the Brass and Willows families were in the Highlander and heading north on Highway 93. The initial introduction between Ellie and Catherine had been as stilted as he'd thought it would be, but there was no way around that. Catherine knew too much about Ellie and how she'd wrung out his heart, and it was obvious that Ellie felt self-conscious and threatened by the new woman in his life. He was just grateful that neither of them backed out at the last moment.

Lindsey was friendly enough, but stuck in her iPod earphones the moment the SUV started. She pulled them out now, making a face. "Can we stop soon?" she asked. "I've got to use the bathroom."

"No problem," Brass said, secretly relieved. His bladder was starting to complain about the last three cups of coffee. "Everyone keep an eye out for a gas station or a rest stop."

Catherine started poking at the controls on the GPS. "Uh, okay, looks like a couple miles up there's a truck stop," she said.

Brass glanced at the GPS screen. "Which side of the road--"

He looked back at the highway in time to see a pickup truck swerve wildly into their lane, heading in the wrong direction.

Directly towards them.

Cursing, he yanked the steering wheel to the right. Catherine gasped and the girls let out shrill screams as the Highlander skewed off the road, lurching onto the shoulder. The pickup roared past them, horn blaring, before bumping across the scrubby median into the southbound lane.

And then it was gone, and something crunched under the SUV. Brass knew from the handling that at least one tire was blown, and fought to bring the vehicle to a standstill. As it chunkered to a stop, there was no sound in the car but four sets of panicked breathing.

"You okay?" he and Catherine said in unison, turning to their daughters.

"Yeah," Lindsey said.

"Yeah," Ellie echoed. "Nice driving, Dad."

He decided he'd take that at face value, and looked at Catherine. "You okay?"

"Grabbed the Jesus bar," she said, nodding at her right hand clutching the safety bar above her door. "You all right?"

"Yeah -- just lemme get my heart rate under 200." He settled back into his seat, blowing out a harsh breath. "I don't suppose you got his plate number?"

"GU8 519, Nevada plates. Looked like a dark blue Ford pickup -- didn't get the model."

For about the 20,000th time in their relationship, Brass gave thanks he was dating a CSI. Nancy would've screamed her head off, then accused him of negligent driving. Catherine kept it together and grabbed the perp's details. "Good, because we're gonna make a detour to the nearest cop shop and file a complaint on that asshole," he growled, punching the release button on his seat belt.

Once outside the car, he inspected the damage. Someone had left a length of what looked like torn-up corrugated tin on the side of the road, and they'd plowed right over it. "Shit."

Catherine rolled down her window. "How bad?"

"Front right tire is shredded." He leaned on the car, looking around. Nothing but scrubby desert plateau and low mountains as far as the eye could see. "Where the hell are we, anyway?"

"Hold on." She studied the GPS. "About five miles outside of Jackpot. Isn't that the town where Grissom got that severed head from?"

Brass frowned. "Yeah, I think you're right. Fine -- we'll hit their police station and make the complaint, then find a place where we can get the tire fixed."

Inside the car, Ellie glanced at Lindsey. "Severed head?" she said quietly, grimacing.

The girl just shrugged. "Welcome to my world."

"It's a long story," Catherine said, getting out of the Highlander and coming around to the front end. She peered at the bumper. "Hey, Jim?"

"What?" he growled, still glaring at the front tire.

"We've got transfer."

He walked around the front of the car. Sure enough, there was a dark blue scrape at the leading edge of the left bumper. "Hah. I don't suppose you brought your field case?"

"No, but I can improvise with the stuff in my makeup bag. It'll make the insurance claim a lot smoother."

"Good point."

While Brass wrestled with the tire, Catherine used a disposable razor to scrape some of the transfer into an emptied band-aid package, then resealed it with the bandage. Twenty minutes and a fair amount of cursing at Japanese car jacks later, the spare tire was on and they headed for Jackpot. It turned out to be a smallish town with a number of casino hotels and a golf course on the outskirts, providing a getaway spot where people from neighboring Idaho could come and spend their money.

Following Catherine's selections, the GPS led them through the center of town to the police station, a sturdy-looking building overlooking a parking lot with two squad cars, four police trucks and a smattering of civilian vehicles.

"Charming," Brass muttered as they got out of the Highlander. "I bet they do a dandy fish fry on the weekends."

"Be nice," Catherine tutted. "Gil said the lieutenant up here can be kind of difficult."

"Great." He knocked on the back door window. "You two waiting in the car or coming inside?"

"Are you kidding me?" Lindsey said, flinging off her seat belt and popping her door. "Bathroom -- _now_."

Ellie rolled her eyes. "Another police station, whee," she muttered, tossing her magazine on the bench seat and getting out.

Inside the station, the youngest Willows dashed through a door marked LADIES while Brass, Catherine and Ellie headed to the sergeant's desk, manned by a hulking blond deputy in a brown and blue uniform. He looked up from his Tom Clancy paperback, blinked at Ellie, and smiled. "Can I help you folks?" he drawled.

"Yeah," Brass said, digging out his badge and showing it to the officer. "I want to file a report--"

An older man with a lieutenant's insignia and a name tag that read BROOKS stalked into the reception area, followed by a slightly green deputy. "Andy, drop the damn book," he ordered. "I need you and Dave to head back out to Mack's house, there's a helluva mess out there--" He stopped, turning ice-blue eyes on the Brillows clan. "Who are these folks?"

"I dunno, Alan -- they just came in," the blond said apologetically.

Brooks shook his head. "Yeah, well, you're just gonna have to wait, folks. We've got a problem here--"

"Yeah, so do we." The Homicide captain flashed his badge. "Captain Jim Brass, LVPD. If you guys are too busy, then tell me where the nearest State Police headquarters is, because some dickhead in a blue Ford pickup just tried to run us off the road and I want to file a complaint on his ass."

The lieutenant frowned. "Where did this happen?"

"About five miles south of town on Highway 93, about a half hour ago."

Brooks exchanged a look with one of the deputies. "You get the plate number?"

Catherine recited it.

"Sonofabitch." The lieutenant's face went grim. "That's Mack Jones' truck."

"Who's Mack Jones?" Brass asked.

"Well, that's the problem," Brooks said. "Mack Jones _was_ a member of this department before he retired. Now he's dead -- murdered. And judging from the amount of blood Dave here found in his living room, someone with a real grudge worked him over but good."

The greenish deputy swallowed hard. "I swear to God, it looked like someone slaughtered a pig in there," he said weakly.

"Streaks or droplets?"

The men turned to Catherine, who lifted a hand in greeting. "Catherine Willows -- I'm a blood spatter analyst with the LVPD crime lab," she explained. "Streaks mean arterial spurt, which would indicate a weapon like a knife or box cutter. Droplets could be cast-off from a blunt weapon, depending on the directionality. If you can figure out which it was, you'll know what kind of weapon to look for."

Brooks stared at her. "Crime lab -- you know Gil Grissom?"

"Yes. In fact, I've got his job now."

The lieutenant sighed. "Lord, I don't believe I'm doing this again," he said, half to himself. "But whoever killed Mack -- I _want_ that sonofabitch. Look, would you mind coming out and taking a look at Mack's place, see if you can figure out what happened?"

"I'd be happy to," Catherine said, glancing at Brass. She was relieved when she saw agreement there.

Brooks caught the exchange. "I suppose you want to come, too."

Brass held up his hands. "I know I'm out of my jurisdiction -- I'm not gonna step on your toes."

Brooks smirked. "Yeah, I've heard that before from your Mr. Grissom. Wouldn't you know it, he left footprints all over my size 10's." He jerked his head towards the door. "Well, come on -- time's wastin'."

Brass tried not to sigh as he fell in behind Catherine and the Jackpot cops. _Yeah, this is just a __**great**__ start to the weekend._

_

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_

**A/N: The uncomfortable flashback sequence with Ellie and Brass in this chapter is taken with permission from ****"Ellie,"**** written by spottedhorse. Also, Jackpot, NV (yes, Virginia, there is a real town called Jackpot) looks nothing like the town featured in the CSI episode "Jackpot." For one thing, it's set on a high desert plateau, not in the middle of mountains. For the sake of verisimilitude, I'm going to split the difference and combine elements of the episode with elements of the real town, so if you wonder why the Brillows clan aren't rolling through pine-covered mountains, it's because they're not in Big Bear, CA (where the episode was filmed).**


	2. Chapter 2

Entry #3 in the "A Year in the Life" series. The Brillows clan takes a somewhat unplanned family vacation, and run into trouble in a little mountain town called Jackpot. You know the drill -- CSI is not my sandbox. If it were, they'd have better reasons for a potential suspect to be, well, a potential suspect.

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99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall  
by Alice Day

* * *

CHAPTER TWO

Ellie glared at the cheap pine paneling on the opposite wall of the reception area, drumming her fingers on the bench's armrest. "Catherine's just going to check out the scene, baby," her dad said. "We'll be back in a half hour."

_Yeah, this was a great idea for Valentine's Day -- just you and Dad. And Dad's girlfriend, and Dad's girlfriend's daughter, and another fucking dead body that's keeping him busy. Nothing really changes, does it?_

Her foul mood bubbled over. "Okay, fuck this noise," she said. "I'm gonna go find something to eat."

"Can I come, too?" Lindsey said plaintively. "Just sitting here sucks."

Ellie gritted her teeth. "Fine, whatever." _And now I'm babysitting. You __**so**__ owe me, old man._

They got up and went to the sergeant's desk, now manned by a dark-haired woman trudging through a stack of paperwork. "Hey. Is there McDonald's or something within walking distance?" Ellie asked.

The deputy glanced up at them, and shook her head. "Closest Micky D's is out near the highway, sorry. But the diner is just a couple of blocks down on the left -- food isn't fancy, but it's pretty good."

"Okay. Could you tell my dad we went there to get something to eat?" At the deputy's mystified look, she added, "The LVPD detective -- 5'9", balding, looks permanently pissed off? He went with some of your guys to look at a crime scene."

"Oh. No problem."

"Great. Come on," Ellie said, nodding at Lindsey.

They left the police station, turning left on the town's main street. It didn't look like any of the small towns Ellie knew from Jersey -- most of the buildings had that Western look that reminded her of old cowboy movies, and she could see low, scrubby mountains in the distance.

And it was _cold_. She tugged up the zipper of her jacket, turtling her head into her scarf. At her side, Lindsey did the same. "I should be used to this by now," the teenager muttered.

"Used to what?"

"Getting dumped at a police station while Mom goes off to process a scene. She's been doing it since I was a baby."

"Huh," Ellie grunted. "How old are you, anyway?"

"Sixteen. How about you?"

"Twenty-six."

Lindsey looked impressed. "Cool. You live in LA?"

"Yeah." They walked in silence for a bit. "So, how long have you known my dad?"

The teenager shrugged. "Since I was little. My mom used to work for him when he was the grave shift supervisor, then he went back to Homicide and Gil took over when one of the CSIs got killed. I guess Jim's always been around, you know?"

Ellie felt a flood of bitterness. "Nice to know he was hanging around somebody's kid," she muttered.

Lindsey shot her a questioning look. "Never mind," she said, forcing a deep breath. "So you like him?"

"Yeah, he's okay. Blew me away when he started dating my mom, though. I always thought she'd wind up with Warrick."

That surprised Ellie. "Lenny Kravitz was dating your mom?"

Lindsey did a double take, then laughed. "Okay, I see that. No, they didn't go out or anything, but Mom really liked him. Then he got killed and she just fell apart for awhile." She kicked a small rock. "Mom has the shittiest luck that way. Warrick was the third guy she knew who got shot -- well, four if you count that Keppler guy."

Ellie stopped, staring at the younger woman. "Wait a minute -- Lenny's _dead_?"

Lindsey nodded soberly. "Yeah. He was murdered by the undersheriff last year. McKeen was on the take to some local mob guy, and Warrick was tracking him down. Bastard snuck up on him in an alley and shot him in his car, then tried to pin it on a dirty cop. Jim and one of the CSIs tracked him down and busted him." She scowled. "I hope the sonofabitch has to take it up the ass from every guy on his cellblock."

Ellie's eyebrows crept up towards her hairline, but she just nodded. "So who else got shot?"

"My dad -- he was a music producer. He was killed by a drug dealer, but they couldn't prove motive so the guy walked after a couple of years. Then Grandpa got shot by a business partner who was pissed that he lost money on Grandpa's new casino. Then Keppler -- he was a CSI -- got offed by some cop he knew. And then Warrick."

"Jesus. Your mom really does have shitty luck." She wondered if that was why the redheaded CSI was dating her dad. _He's already been shot and he lived through it -- maybe she's hoping that'll break the streak. _"Hold on -- your grandpa owned a casino? And your mom still has to work?"

"It's a long story," Lindsey hedged. "She wasn't exactly legitimate, you know? And she didn't find out she was his daughter for sure until four or five years ago, so it kind of screwed up their relationship."

Ellie was surprised to feel a flash of empathy for the older woman. "Yeah, I know that one," she said quietly, pausing in front of a homey-looking building with a deep awning over the front windows. "Okay, I think this is the diner--"

A soft panting whine sounded behind them. Turning, they saw a medium-sized dog limping around the corner of the diner on three legs. It raised its head and gave the girls a pathetic look.

Ellie's bad mood subsided. "Hey, boy," she said, crouching down and holding out her hand. The dog whined and sniffed it, then limped closer. She stroked the animal's head, moving his collar around so that she could read the tag. "Hey, Slugger. What happened to you, sweetie?"

"Oh, crap -- I think his back leg is broken," Lindsey said.

Ellie leaned over and looked at the dog's left hind leg. It was held up against his body, and the lower half was weirdly bent and swollen. "Yeah, I think you're right. Do you think he got hit by a car?"

"I don't know." The teenager crouched next to the dog, and he wagged his tail weakly. "What do we do?"

"Um..." _Where's a cop when you really need one?_ Ellie looked up and down the street, spotting a sign a half block down with profiles of a dog and cat. "I think that's a vet's office," she said, pointing. "Let's get him over there."

Handing her purse to Lindsey, she slid one arm around the dog's front legs and the other between his hind legs, doing her best not to touch the broken limb. He yelped sharply as she stood up, then buried his head on her shoulder and trembled.

"Shh, it's okay," she whispered, trying to walk as smoothly as possible. "The doc's going to fix you up, sweetie, don't worry."

Lindsey dashed ahead of them and opened the door to the Jackpot Animal Clinic. Ellie turned sideways and eased the dog through the doorway, into a shady reception area. The reception desk, loaded down with pictures of pets and their owners, was unoccupied.

_Great -- of course they're taking a break._ "Hey, we need some help here!" she called.

"Coming."

A dark-haired man in a flannel shirt, jeans and a lab coat came around the corner, dusting his hands together. "What's the problem...Slugger?" He frowned at the dog, then at Ellie. "That's Mack Jones' dog. What happened?"

"I don't know. He just limped up to us in front of the diner," Ellie said. "I think his rear leg is broken."

"Hind leg," the vet corrected, resting his hand on the dog's flank as he peered at the battered limb. "Oh, boy -- you're right. Okay, bring him in here."

He turned and guided them around the corner into a room that looked like a cross between a veterinary exam room and a storage closet. "Sorry. I was rearranging some supplies," he said, pulling a box off a stainless steel table on wheels. "Put him down there, carefully."

"Yeah, like I was going to drop him," Ellie muttered, bending her knees and lowering the dog onto the table. "You're gonna be all right, sweetie," she murmured.

The veterinarian grabbed an old towel and spread it out on the table, then eased Slugger onto his side. "Let's get him comfortable, then I'll need to X-ray the leg. Was he hit by a car?"

"I don't know. We found him in front of the diner."

"Hmm." He probed Slugger's side, and the dog yelped. "Sorry, boy, sorry," he soothed. "All right, let's get you taken care of."

Ellie and Lindsey backed up, watching as the vet gave Slugger an injection. Slowly, the dog relaxed and his breathing eased. "That's better," the vet said. "I think he may have some cracked ribs as well as the broken leg. Could you two wait here, please?"

Gently, he slid his hands under the towel and Slugger, and carried the dog out of the exam room. Lindsey leaned against a badly tinted window, staring around the small space. "So much for food," she said.

Ellie frowned. "I guess. Did he say Slugger belonged to Mack Jones?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"That's the ex-cop who got killed. Your mom's checking out his house right now."

The teenager frowned. "Huh. Maybe whoever killed this Mack guy went after Slugger, too." Suddenly, her eyes went wide. _"Whoa."_

"What?"

"If the killer hit him, Slugger may have some trace evidence in his fur." She pulled out her phone and started tapping the keypad. "We need to tell my mom."

"Why don't you just call her?"

Lindsey shook her head. "Trust me, interrupting Mom in the middle of a crime scene is not a good idea," she said. "I'm texting her -- she'll check it as soon as she finishes processing."

Before she could say anything else, the vet returned with the dog. "Slugger's left hock is broken in a greenstick fracture, and he's got some cracked ribs," he said, frowning. "This wasn't done by a car -- someone beat him pretty badly."

Ellie sucked in a breath. "Yeah, we know."

He gave her a sharp look. "How? I thought you said you found him in front of the diner."

She gave him a quick recap of the afternoon's events, concluding with Mack Jones' death. The vet's expression changed, turning dark. "Mack was a good guy," he said, his voice low. "He didn't deserve to go out like that." Filling a steel bowl with water, he unwrapped something that looked like a dusty white bandage and put it in the bowl to soak. "What's your name?"

She jerked. "What?"

"Your name," the vet repeated. "What is it?"

"Ellie Brass."

He nodded. "I'm Dr. Sterling," he said, not quite meeting her eyes. "If Mack's dead, Alan's going to be calling me soon, so we need to finish this up quickly. Come over here."

Reluctantly, she stepped up to the exam table. "What do you want me to do?"

"Get a good grip on Slugger's ruff, here." He hesitated, then took her hand, guiding it to the back of the dog's neck and closing her fingers around the thick fold of skin. "He's not going to like this next part, so hang onto him."

Sterling brought the steel bowl and a thin white sleeve of material to the table, then took Slugger's hock in both hands. The dog whined, then yelped in pain as the vet firmly straightened the broken bone. Ellie gulped when she heard the wet popping noise. "You're a good boy, Slugger, yes you are," he murmured encouragingly, reaching for the sleeve and sliding it over the hock. In a minute he had the plaster-impregnated bandage wrapped around the sleeve, forming a cast. "Hang onto him for another minute, until the plaster sets."

"Okay." She stroked Slugger's ears, trying to comfort him, then looked closer. "What's that stuff around his mouth?"

Sterling leaned over and examined the dog's muzzle. "Looks like blood. Let me wash my hands, I'll get that cleaned up--"

"No!"

They both turned to Lindsey. "It might be evidence," she explained, quickly studying the medical supplies along the steel work table. She pointed at a jar of long sterile swabs. "I saw Mom do this once," she said. "Slugger might have bit whoever killed Mack. If we get a sample of the blood, and it's human _and_ its DNA matches whoever the cops catch, it could link the guy to the scene."

"Huh. Good point." Sterling pulled out a swab and ran it over the sticky spot, catching some of the blood. "Now what?"

"We need to save it. Do you have, like, a ziploc bag or something?"

He nodded at the teal drawers under the table. "I have some fecal sample bags in the middle drawer." At her face, he shook his head. "Clean ones. They're just fancy ziploc bags."

Lindsey fished one out, and held it open for the swab. Once he deposited it, she locked the bag's plastic zip, then tore off a piece of medical tape and folded it along the seal. "Do you have a pen?"

He plucked a ballpoint from the pocket of his lab coat. "Okay, write your name, the date and time across the tape," she explained. "Mom says this maintains the chain of evidence. It's really important if you want to get a conviction."

As he followed her instructions, Ellie gave the teenager a reluctantly respectful look. "You really know this stuff."

The teenager shrugged. "I _live_ with this stuff. Don't even get me started on cross-contamination."

###

Catherine crouched next to the DB, studying the droplets of scarlet on the floor and wall. "He was killed with a blunt object," she said, pointing at the dead man's head. A large, macerated lump could be seen through his bloodstained white hair. "Baseball bat, maybe. I see at least one blow to the skull, maybe two. Probably more to the face and body, judging from the amount of blood." She wished she had a pair of latex gloves so that she could tilt the head to the side and examine his face; as it was, this had to be a hands-off examination. "What's immediately around the body and on that wall is castoff."

She stood up, tracking the patterns on the floor. "The fight started back here, near the TV," she said, pointing at a broken coffee cup on the floor. "Apart from the blood spatter, the cup is the only sign of a struggle. And I don't know a lot of ex-cops who stand there drinking coffee during a home invasion."

"Shit," Brooks said, folding his arms as he stared at the bloodstains. Dave the deputy stood in the doorway; the one who looked like he was about to puke was currently outside checking the perimeter with Brass. "You're saying he knew his attacker."

"Yeah. And it was someone who could walk right up to him with a bat or some sort of blunt weapon."

The lieutenant shook his head. "Mack wouldn't let _me_ come near him with a baseball bat, and he trained me. He was one paranoid old bastard."

Catherine rested her hands on her hips as she studied the living room. It looked like the typical home of a retired cop living on a pension; inexpensive furnishings, awards and family pictures over the fireplace, everything orderly and neat. She walked over to the fireplace, looking at the pictures. "Was he married?"

Brooks shook his head. "Widower, two years ago. Got a daughter who lives in Elko -- sweet kid, not the brightest button in the box but means well. Cute little granddaughter, too -- Mack thought the sun rose and set on that little girl."

Catherine's cell phone trilled, the signal for an incoming text message. She pulled it out of its holster, checking the screen. _Lindsey_. _Probably wants to know when we'll be done here._

"That reminds me, I've gotta call our coroner," Brooks said, making a face as he pulled out his own cell phone and dialed. "Come on, pick up -- yeah, Dale? This is Alan. Mack Jones is dead -- somebody killed him. You need to get on out here and clear the body so we can move him."

He listened to the response, frowning. "How? You do? Well, I'll be damned -- is he gonna be okay?" He glanced at the CSI, waving her over. "Look, we've got guests from the Las Vegas crime lab here checking out the place -- I think they're gonna want to see Slugger. We'll come get you." He paused, looking surprised. "Yeah, I'll ask."

Brooks lowered the phone. "You got a daughter named Ellie?"

Catherine shook her head. "That's Jim's daughter -- why?"

"She and another girl are at Dale's place -- he's the local vet when he's not playing coroner," Brooks said. "They brought in Mack's dog, Slugger. Dale says someone worked Slugger over with a blunt object, like a baseball bat. You want to go over there and check him out?"

One half of Catherine's brain chimed in with statistics about collecting trace evidence from pets at a crime scene. The other half, the one with the maternal programming, flashed on Grissom's stories about Jackpot; Brooks throwing roadblocks in his way, the limping man who ran the local garage, the flirtatious waitress at the diner. And her ex-husband the veterinarian/coroner, who liked to slap her around every so often. _What the hell are Lindsey and Ellie doing there? Are they alone with him?_

And on the heels of that thought,_ if he so much as touches my kid, I'll break his arm off and feed it to him._

"Oh, yeah," she said, shoving her phone back in its holster without reading the text message. "We're going over there _now_."


	3. Chapter 3

Entry #3 in the "A Year in the Life" series. The Brillows clan takes a somewhat unplanned family vacation, and run into trouble in a little mountain town called Jackpot. You know the drill -- CSI is not my sandbox. If it were, there would be more road trips.

* * *

99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall  
by Alice Day

* * *

CHAPTER THREE

After the first flush of panic settled, Catherine had to admit that Dr. Sterling didn't match her mental image of Grissom's description. For one thing, he was...shorter. And oddly tense, but not in the way she'd seen in abusive men; more like he was convinced someone was about to haul off and slug _him_.

Still, she didn't like the fact that he'd been alone with Lindsey and Ellie. Under her prodding, Brass collected the girls and headed out to get the SUV tire replaced, while Brooks collared the veterinarian and took him out to the crime scene to clear the body for transport. By the time Sterling returned, she'd finished examining Slugger for trace. The dog's fur was loaded with dirt and plant material from his escape; more interesting was what she found in his teeth. "Do you have a microscope?" she asked, holding up a pair of tweezers.

The vet pointed behind her. "In the exam room over there -- box of slides are next to it."

"Thanks." The fiber went on a slide, then under the microscope barrel. She adjusted the focus knob, sharpening the image of a dark blue thread.

She heard Sterling come up behind her. "What did you find?"

"Looks like a cotton thread -- I found it between Slugger's upper canine and the neighboring tooth. Thread's thinner than the kind used in jeans, and dyed dark blue -- it might be from a pair of work pants or overalls."

He shook his head. "Ma'am, you've just described the outfits of maybe half the men in this town."

"Yeah, well, I never said my job was easy," she said, picking up the bag with the swab. "Were you gloved when you took this?"

"No -- your daughter didn't mention that," Sterling said, looking apologetic. "Is that a problem?"

"No. Whoever processes the DNA will just need to get a sample from you later on so that they can rule out your epithelials," she said. Her phone beeped, and she checked the screen. _BRASS_.

"Excuse me." She flipped the phone open. "Hi, hon -- are we ready to leave? Oh, you're _kidding_ me. Where? All right -- I'll meet you there. Bye."

She snapped the phone shut hard enough that her knuckles cracked.

"Problems?" Sterling asked.

"Your local garage is out of tires that'll fit a Highlander," Catherine said, trying not to growl. "Someone named Marty Cooperman is driving out to a Goodyear near San Jacinto to see if they have any."

Sterling checked his watch. "He better get a move on -- the Goodyear closes at 6:00 PM, and it's almost 5:30 now."

"Great." She took a deep breath, forcing a sense of calm. "Look, I need to bag this, then meet Jim and the girls at a local diner. Do you have any small impermeable envelopes or bags?"

"How about a pill bottle?"

"That'll work."

The fiber went into a small blue bottle, and she sealed it with medical tape and signed it. "Lieutenant Brooks will probably pick this stuff up tomorrow. In the meantime, just store it somewhere cool and safe," she said, stripping off her gloves and grabbing her purse. "Do you know where the Rimrock Diner is?"

"Go out the front door, turn right -- it'll be about a half block down on this side of the street," Sterling said. "Oh, and would you tell Miss Brass thanks for her help with Slugger?"

That made her pause. "Ellie helped you?"

He nodded. "She kept Slugger still while I set his leg. That's never an easy thing -- the sound alone can make some people gag -- but she just hung on to him. Please tell her I appreciated it."

Catherine tried to picture Ellie Brass in a helpful mood. Somehow, the image wouldn't appear. "Uh, sure."

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

The wind was starting to pick up by the time Catherine reached the diner, and she was grateful for the warm air and the smell of food as she slipped inside. The diner was small but pleasant, with a counter along one wall and seven or eight tables in the main dining area; about half of the counter seats and a third of the tables were already occupied. She looked around and found Brass, Lindsey and Ellie at a table in the corner, reading menus.

"What looks good?" she said, taking the seat next to Brass.

"I was thinking meatloaf," he said, handing her a menu. "Everything go okay?"

"Found a fiber in the dog's mouth -- could have come from the killer's pants," she said. "Everything's bagged and ready for the state police crime lab, so I think we're good to go."

"Assuming we can get that tire tonight," Brass grumped. "Everybody and their brother has an SUV or truck up here -- I can't believe they just ran out of tires in our size."

She squeezed his hand. "It was my bright idea to open my big mouth about the blood spatter. If I hadn't done that, we could've been at the cabin by now."

He took her hand and kissed it. "Nope, you did the right thing."

A snort came from behind Lindsey's menu. Catherine leaned across the table and put a finger on the menu's top edge, pushing it down far enough to look her daughter in the eye. "No commentary from the peanut gallery, please."

"Hey, you didn't have to spend the afternoon standing around a vet's office," Lindsey pointed out.

"It wasn't that bad," Ellie said absently, studying her menu.

"Well, yeah -- he got _you_ to help him with the dog," the teenager said. "I just stood there holding up the wall."

Catherine remembered Sterling's request. "That reminds me -- Dr. Sterling said to say thanks for helping him," she said. "He seemed pretty impressed with you."

Jim's daughter gave her a flat look. "Sounds like you're surprised."

The CSI blinked at the sudden animosity. "No. Just passing along what he said."

Ellie's eyes narrowed, but she went back to her menu. Brass gave Catherine's hand an apologetic squeeze. "I've got to use the head," he said. "If the waitress comes while I'm gone, tell her I want the meatloaf plate and some coffee, okay?"

"Sure."

He got up and headed for a doorway marked RESTROOMS. As Catherine watched, partially to find out where the bathrooms were and partially to appreciate the view, the diner door swung open and Dr. Sterling came in. He nodded once at the waitress and headed to the back, taking a single table in the opposite corner.

The waitress came over to their table. "Evening, ladies -- my name is Doris, and I'll be waiting on you hand and foot tonight," she said cheerfully. "What can I get you to drink?"

"Two coffees," Catherine said, pointing at Brass's empty spot and her own. "Lindsey, what do you want?"

"Diet Coke."

"You have beer?" Ellie said, giving Catherine a challenging look.

"Sure do -- Bud, Bud Light, Coors and Sam Adams."

"I'll take a Sam Adams."

"Coming right up."

Catherine tried not to sigh. If the younger woman thought she was going to pick a fight by having a beer, she was working the wrong parent. "So, how's LA?"

The blonde leaned back in her chair. "You're kidding me, right?"

_Jim, you coward, get your ass back here._ "Just thought I'd ask," she said, trying to sound pleasant.

Ellie tapped her lips. "Well, let's see," she said, her voice overly bright. "I don't make nearly as much money as I did in my old job, but then again I'm not spending as much on recreational," she glanced at Lindsey, "items, so I guess it all works out. I have a crappy little apartment, but at least I don't live next door to meth dealers anymore so that's an improvement. I can make a mojito with my eyes closed, I've gotten really good at looking like I give a crap when customers talk to me, and my ass is usually bruised by Monday morning from all the jerks grabbing it over the weekend." She tilted her head to the side. "Anything else you want to know?"

Catherine was saved from having to respond by the waitress's return. "Two coffees, one Diet Coke, one Sam Adams," she said, putting the glassware and beer bottle on the table. "You're the crime lab folks from Vegas, right?"

"That's us."

Doris gave Lindsey and Ellie an approving look. "Heard you girls brought Slugger in to Dale's place today," she said. "Poor old pooch -- we used to let Mack bring him in here at lunch. He'd eat half of Mack's sandwich, then just snooze under the table, happy as a clam." She shook her head. "Terrible thing about Mack -- some folks just need to be taken out and shot. I hope Slugger gonna be okay, at least."

Before Catherine could reply, Ellie said, "He was dozing when we left. The doc said he had a broken hock and some cracked ribs, but he should be fine."

The waitress nodded approvingly. "Dale knows his stuff when it comes to animals," she said. "If he's taking care of Slugger, that silly old pooch'll be up and mooching sandwiches in no time."

Catherine blinked in surprise. "You make Sterling sound like a decent guy."

"Well, he is." Doris gave her a curious look. "Why, what've you heard?"

_Okay, that wasn't smart, Willows._ "That you're his ex-wife," she admitted. "And, um, that you two split up for a pretty good reason."

The curly-haired woman sighed. "Great. Alan's been running his mouth again, hasn't he?"

Catherine didn't know how to explain that she'd heard about Sterling's history from Grissom, not the police lieutenant. "Well--"

"Oh, for the love of Pete." Doris glanced over her shoulder at the other corner table, then leaned in. "Look, honey, Dale is harmless," she said in a conspiratorial tone. "Yeah, he gave me a black eye once, but that was during one of his damn nightmares -- he was thrashing around in his sleep and whacked me one. The nose I did myself when I tripped over this potbellied pig he was treating." She shook her head, smirking. "Now, Alan's just as sweet as can be, but I'm telling you, he's got the wrong end of the stick about Dale and me. I didn't leave him because he smacked me around -- I left him because he's boring as dirt." With a final wink, she straightened up. "Now, what can I get you folks to eat?"

Bemused by the waitress's unexpected autobiography, Catherine gave Brass's request for meatloaf, adding a chicken Caesar salad for herself. The girls gave their orders, and Doris headed for the kitchen.

Ellie watched her leave, then turned on Catherine. "What was all that about?"

The older woman frowned in embarrassment. "Grissom told me some things about Dr. Sterling," she said. "Which seem to have gotten garbled in transmission."

"What sort of things?"

"That he had a history of spousal abuse."

"The doc?" Ellie made a dismissive sound. "Please. I know guys who get off on hitting women -- he's not the type. He didn't even want to look at me."

"She's right, Mom," Lindsey agreed. "He was kinda weird, but he wasn't mean or anything."

Catherine raised her hands in surrender. "Like I said, something obviously got garbled along the way."

Brass arrived at the table, scowling. "I just got a call from that Cooperman guy," he said. "The Goodyear's closed, so we're stuck here for the night."

Catherine bit back a groan. _Next time I hear about a crime scene on vacation, I'm keeping my big mouth shut. _"Well, we'll get to the cabin tomorrow, at least," she tried to temporize.

"Yeah. Look, let's just eat dinner, then I'll call around the hotels and get us a couple of rooms for the night."

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

Ellie sipped her Sam Adams, ignoring her father's pointed look at the beer bottle. She didn't particularly like the taste of beer, but sometimes he needed reminding that she wasn't nine years old anymore. Besides, any needling he got, he'd more than earned with the shit he pulled today.

Her attention drifted across the room. Sterling was still at his table, reading what looked like a veterinary journal. Half a tuna melt and a pile of fries sat untouched on his plate.

A smile played across Ellie's face, and she stood up. "I'll be right back."

Her dad gave her an absentminded nod, most of his attention on Catherine's talk about thin blue fibers. Lindsey glanced over at the veterinarian, however, and gave Ellie a look that clearly said _You have got to be kidding me._

She smirked. "I'm just gonna ask him about the dog," she said in an undertone.

"Whatever."

Shrugging, Ellie turned and headed over to Sterling's table. "Hey, Doc."

The vet looked up from his journal, blinking at her. "Oh. Miss Brass. Hello."

"Mind if I sit down?"

He looked around the diner, as if expecting to see a camera crew pop out of the woodwork. "Uh, okay."

_Way to make a girl feel welcome, Doc._ "So, how's Slugger doing?" she said, taking the seat across from him.

"He's resting comfortably. I think he'll make a full recovery."

"Great. So what are you going to do with him -- I mean, since his owner is dead."

The vet shrugged. "I'll keep him at the office, see if I can place him with someone in town. He's a pretty good pointer -- I can think of a couple of hunters who might be willing to take him."

"Oh. That's good." She picked up a sugar packet, playing with it. "So, uh, what do you do for fun around here?"

He thought for a moment. "It depends on the age group. The local high schoolers like to get tuned up on their recreational drug of choice, then steal motorcycles and race them out near the foothills. People your age, well, they usually take off for Elko or Reno as soon as they can. Other folks hit the casinos, or go golfing. That's really about it."

"Huh. So are you a casino man, or a golfer?"

He closed the journal, smoothing the cover. "Neither," he said with a shrug. "I'm kind of dull. Just ask my ex-wife." He nodded at Doris.

Hooking had left Ellie with a sharp set of instincts about men; despite what Doris had said, there was something about the vet that didn't register as 'boring'. "I dunno -- you seem kind of interesting to me," she said, leaning across the table and snagging one of his fries.

He gave the theft a bemused look. "You're pretty interesting, yourself. You don't sound like a Las Vegas native -- East coast?"

"New Jersey, but I'm living in LA right now."

"Oh. Are you an actress?"

_No, but I used to hook with a couple of them._ "God, no. I tend bar at a club." She glanced over at her dad's table. "And I'm taking some online courses on the side, but that's kind of a secret right now."

He followed her glance. "Why is it a secret?"

Ellie tried to figure out how to explain it in a way that didn't sound idiotic or childish. "If my dad finds out, he'll be all gung-ho about it, and next thing I know he'll be signing me up at Western LVU or something," she said, waving the fry. "I want to take this at my own speed, you know?"

Sterling nodded. "Sounds reasonable to me. So, when you're not working or taking courses, what do you do for fun?"

"Dancing, usually." She shrugged. "I know it sounds kinda stupid. I mean, I work in a club, I should be sick of dance music by now. But I still love it."

"If it's something you enjoy, that's all that matters," he said. "You know, if you're still here tomorrow night, you should head over to the Snowcap Lounge. They're holding a Valentine's Day dance -- it's popular, half the town will be there."

Sterling nodded. "Sounds reasonable to me. So, when you're not working or taking courses, what do _you_ do for fun?"

"Dancing, usually." She shrugged. "I know it sounds kinda stupid. I mean, I work in a club, I should be sick of dance music by now. But I still love it."

"If it's something you enjoy, that's all that matters," he said. "You know, if you're still here tomorrow night, you should head over to the Snowcap Lounge. They're holding a Valentine's Day dance -- it's popular, half the town will be there."

"Hm." She nibbled her stolen french fry, considering him. He'd been nice to her, and he was kind of cute, in a geeky middle-aged sort of way. "Are you going to be there?"

He snorted. "Wasn't planning on it," he said, picking up his glass of iced tea and taking a sip.

"Want to go with me?"

He stared at her for a millisecond, then choked on his tea. Concerned, she jumped up and rounded the table, slapping him on the back until he stopped coughing. Nearby people stared at them, and she glared back. "Take a picture, it lasts longer," she growled.

The diners' attention reluctantly swung back to their plates.

_Okay, maybe I should've waited until he swallowed._ "Sorry," she said, sitting back down.

"'S all right," he croaked. "You just...surprised me."

"Yeah, I guessed. So is that a yes?"

"That -- I -- um." He frowned. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you want me to go to the lounge with you?"

She shrugged. "I like to dance with guys I know, and you're the only guy I know here. Seemed like a good idea to ask you."

He gave her a dubious look. "I think I'm a little old for you, aren't I?"

"God, I'm not proposing or anything, Doc." She leaned over, studying what she could see of him around the table. "Besides, you look like you can still shake it."

He blushed. "Look, I appreciate the offer, but I don't think you really want to go with me," he said. "I don't exactly have the greatest reputation."

"Neither do I, so it's all good," she said cheerfully, snagging another fry. "If we're still in town tomorrow night, I'll be at the Snowcap. You show up, and I'll dance with you. Deal?"

Sterling's mouth quirked, almost turning into a smile. "You're serious, aren't you?"

She grinned. "I'm always serious when it comes to dancing."

"Well..." He took a deep breath, clearing his throat at the end. "All right," he said. "I'll be there."

"Cool." She spotted her dad waving her back over. Lt. Brooks stood next to him, giving Sterling and Ellie an appraising look. "Oh, great. Look, I'd better get back before he sends some cops after me," she said. "_Again_. See you tomorrow night?"

"I'll see you."

She winked at him as she got up, deliberately putting a bit of a sway into her walk for his viewing pleasure. As she approached her family's table, her dad frowned at her. "What were you doing over there?" he asked.

"Just talking," she said, sitting down. "The dog's going to be okay, by the way. Hi, Lieutenant."

"Miss Brass," Brooks said with a nod. "I was telling your dad I heard you all are stranded here for the night." He turned to the Homicide captain. "I don't know if you already checked, but since it's a holiday weekend all the hotels are booked up."

"Oh, this trip is getting better and better," Brass growled. "Look, the four of us can't camp out in a Highlander overnight."

"Nope, you can't." Brooks held up an index finger. Dangling from it was a keyring and two silver keys. "So, seeing as you folks were kind enough to help us out today, you've got yourselves a place to sleep, courtesy of my brother Leland and the Jackpot Police Department."


	4. Chapter 4

Entry #3 in the "A Year in the Life" series. The Brillows clan takes a somewhat unplanned family vacation, and run into trouble in a little mountain town called Jackpot. You know the drill -- CSI is not my sandbox. If it were, there would be the occasional love scene because I like 'em.

* * *

99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall  
by Alice Day

* * *

CHAPTER FOUR

Valentine's Day dawned chilly and overcast, sending dull grey morning light through the gap in the bedroom curtains. It looked just bleak enough to make a sleepy Brass grateful for the thick quilts he and Catherine had crawled under last night.

_Then again, there's nothing quite like waking up on a cold Valentine's Day in a warm bed with a beautiful woman in your arms_, he thought, glancing down at the tousled mass of strawberry blond hair currently resting on his chest. _Even if she is drooling on your t-shirt._

He ran a hand down her back, enjoying the soft texture of her nightgown and the warm skin underneath. "Morning, baby," he whispered.

She muttered something that sounded like _don't wanna get up_, and snuggled closer.

That was fine with him. In fact, he had plans that would require the two of them to stay in bed for at least an hour, and possibly longer. His hand drifted lower, stroking the gentle curve of her ass, before catching the bottom of her nightgown and gently tugging it up. Taking advantage of the access, he slid his fingers underneath the waistband of her panties, spreading his hand over her hip.

Sleepy blue eyes opened, trying to focus on his face. "Lemme guess," she mumbled. "You're in the mood."

He kissed her forehead. "It did cross my mind."

"Uh-huh." She yawned. "Honey, don't take this the wrong way, but what is it with guys and sex first thing in the morning? I know about morning wood, but being awake enough to enjoy it is nice, too."

He chuckled. "What can I say -- we're simple creatures," he said. "If you've got a gorgeous woman in the sack and the equipment is ready to roll, you go for it."

"Great. Unfortunately, I don't come with a push button start like you do."

She had a point. "Well then, Sleeping Beauty, we'll just have to warm you up slow and easy," he said softly, his hand moving lower.

She put her hand on his wrist, stopping it. "You do realize we have sleeping daughters in the next room, right?"

"I can be quiet if you can."

"Prove it."

He leaned down and kissed her. "That was quiet," he said against her lips.

"Mmhmm."

He abandoned her panties, reversing ground. His hand slid higher under her nightgown, gently capturing one breast. "And that didn't make a sound."

Breaking her own requirement, the little contented noises she made as he nuzzled her neck turned into a soft gasp when he started stroking his thumb in a circle around her nipple, and then into a low purr when he tugged the neckline down and applied a warm, wet tongue to the hard pink tip. His other hand went lower, sliding over her panties and cupping the soft mound there. His fingertips gently traced over silky fabric and the sensitive flesh underneath, teasing out the first signs of arousal.

He paused, looking up to gauge her reaction. Her eyes were closed again. But this time, she was smiling.

He continued the siege, kissing and stroking all the places she loved. When he could finally feel the damp heat seeping through her panties, he tugged them off, nudging her legs apart so that he could slide between them. "Still sleepy?" he whispered.

"Shhh. I'm having a wonderful dream." She paused, eyes still closed. "Why is it still wearing pants?"

"It's been _busy_, woman." Grinning, he wiggled out of his sweatpants and briefs, then pushed inside her slowly, relishing the slick, gripping sensation of Catherine enclosing him. "Ohhh. Yeah."

As it turned out, having to be quiet was an insanely hot turn-on in itself. Near the end he gritted his teeth, willing himself not to make the sounds she once described as "a happy bull in heat." But then her hands clutched his back, she whispered a delightfully filthy order into his ear, and her inner muscles clamped down on him in a delicious ripple and--

He buried his head between her neck and the pillow, trying to muffle the noises pouring out of his mouth.

Panting, he sagged on top of her. It took a moment before he realized she was laughing. "You call that quiet?" she giggled.

"It was into the pillow," he said in a wounded tone.

"If the girls ask, _you_ get to explain."

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

After getting cleaned up and dressed, they explored the small ranch home. "This is nice," Catherine said, looking around the paneled living room. "So where's Leland?"

"Reno, apparently," Brass said. "Brooks said that after Eric got locked up, Leland couldn't stay here anymore. Brooks has a cleaning service come in every month, give the place a general once-over. All we have to do is put the linens in the bathroom when we leave. Oh, and there's some food in the fridge, too."

"Really?" She padded into the kitchen, opening the old Frigidaire. "Orange juice, bacon, eggs, bread and milk," she reported, checking the freezer. "And hash browns. How convenient."

"New bag of coffee over here," Brass said, checking the counter. "And filters for the coffee maker."

Catherine crossed to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. "You do realize we're being diddled, right?" she asked.

Brass snorted. "Baby, I figured that out last night when Brooks showed up with the keys to his brother's place. I'm guessing the tire for the Highlander will magically appear just as soon as we figure out who killed Mack."

She rested her head on his shoulder and sighed. "Grissom was right -- Brooks _is_ a conniving SOB," she murmured. "Normally I don't mind helping out, especially in cases like this. I just wish he didn't need our help _this_ particular weekend."

There was no arguing with her on that. "The ironic thing is, this is probably a better place than the cabin for the four of us," he said, glancing around the house. "At least the kids don't have to sleep on air mattresses here."

"Mmrph. Stop trying to make me feel better."

He nuzzled her neck. "I'll make you a deal. We'll go to Cancun in the spring, just the two of us," he said. "If we come across another crime scene, we let the upstanding crimefighters who are actually on the clock handle the situation, and we'll stroll off into the sunset, whistling."

She kissed him. "You got a deal. In the meantime, Mr. Crimefighter, let's get breakfast going."

"You start the coffee, Ms. Crimefighter, and I'll crack the eggs."

A few minutes later, Ellie wandered into the kitchen in a t-shirt and sweatpants, yawning. "Heya," she mumbled.

"Morning, kiddo," Brass said, turning from the stove. "Want some bacon and eggs?"

"Mmrph." She fell into a seat at the table, plopping her head into her hands. "I hate mornings."

"Like father, like daughter," he quipped, and was grateful when Ellie gave him a sleepy smirk. "So, food?"

"Two eggs, scrambled, thanks." She rubbed her eyes. "I haven't slept in a bunk bed since I was, like, ten. They're seriously narrow."

"Bunk beds?" He winced. The girls had disappeared into the other bedroom last night without complaint, so he'd assumed the room had twin beds. "Ouch."

"Nah, it was kind of fun. We Rochambeaued for the top bunk -- I won."

Catherine snickered. "That's probably for the best," she said, pouring herself a cup of coffee. "Lindsey doesn't have a lot of luck with heights. Want some coffee?"

"Yeah, thanks." Ellie accepted a cup, sighing. "Um, look, I'm sorry about being so bitchy yesterday at the diner. I know you were trying to be nice -- I was just in a pissy mood. I'm still trying to wrap my head around the whole 'Dad's girlfriend' thing, you know?"

The Homicide captain kept quiet as he stirred the pan of eggs, waiting for Catherine's response. "Yeah, I figured. And then you get sucked into an impromptu road trip with her _and_ her kid," the older woman said sympathetically. "Which, frankly, has got to suck."

Ellie shook her head. "Nah, it's okay. And Lindsey's cool -- I was hella impressed when she said she hoped the guy who shot Warrick was the cellblock's new bitch."

Brass snorted laughter as Catherine's jaw dropped open. "My baby said that?" she choked out.

"Mm-hm -- remind me not to piss her off. So, anyway, are we good?"

"Yeah, I think we're good."

From the corner of his eye, Brass saw the love of his life salute his daughter with her coffee cup. He tried to ignore the suspicion that said this was all too fast and easy. _I don't care -- if it means we have a good weekend, I'm not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, dammit._

"Cool." Ellie took a slurp of her coffee. "So, when do you guys think the car will be ready?"

He gave the eggs a last stir and reached for a plate. "Yeah, about that," he said. "I get the impression we're being stalled so that Catherine can help out on the Jones case."

To his surprise, she grinned. "If we have to stay here another night, I'm good with that," she said. "Apparently there's some sort of Valentine dance going on tonight at a place called the Snowcap Lounge -- we could check it out."

He paused in mid-serving. "Okay, when did you have time to scope out the social scene?"

Ellie gave him a blatantly innocent look. "I'm a bartender -- I listen to people," she said as the doorbell rang. "Like right now, I hear someone at the door."

"Yeah, ha ha, Kathy Griffin." Handing her the plate, he headed to the front door. Unsurprisingly, Lt. Brooks was waiting on the porch, hands jammed in his pockets against the chilly morning air.

"Morning, Captain," he said with a tight smile. "Thought I'd be a good host and check on you folks. Mind if I come in?"

"Sure." Brass stepped back and allowed the lieutenant past him. "Want some coffee?"

Catherine held up a spatula with two crispy slices of bacon balanced on it. "Or we're just starting breakfast, if you're hungry."

"Just coffee, thanks. Thought you'd want to know, we found Mack's pickup this morning," Brooks said. "Run into a ditch just off of Old Bolton Road. I was kinda hoping the sumbitch would be impaled on the steering column, but he got away."

That got their attention. "Was it an accident or a deliberate dump?" Brass asked.

"The gas gauge read half full, so gas wasn't a problem. There were some skid marks behind the truck, wavy ones, like he was fighting the wheel."

Brass and Catherine glanced at each other. "Or fighting someone for the wheel, maybe?" Catherine said thoughtfully.

"Right now, anything's possible," the lieutenant said. "Since you're still waiting on that tire from Goodyear, I was hoping you might be willing to come out and take a look at the truck, see if you can pull some prints off the wheel." He had the grace to color a bit.

She handed him a cup of coffee. "I'm going to need dusting and lifting supplies."

"Got 'em in the truck."

"Mm-hm. And I'll need some help processing the car."

Brooks pursed his lips, then nodded at Brass. "Your boyfriend there is welcome to tag along," he said.

The Homicide captain gave his counterpart a smirk. "Gee, thanks."

"I'm going to need more than just one body," Catherine said, looking at Ellie. "Lindsey knows some of the procedures. Think you'd be willing to help out?"

Ellie's expression was almost comical. "Uh...there won't be any dead bodies, right?"

Brass hid a grin in his coffee cup. _Screw the genetics -- that's my kid, all right._

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

"Are you sure about this, Ms. Willows?" Brooks asked. "I'm mean, this is a potential crime scene, not a dance club."

The CSI shrugged, wrapping the scarf more securely around her throat. "The girls found Mack's dog yesterday, and Lindsey was the one who had Dr. Sterling collect the blood around Slugger's mouth, then called me so that I could finish collecting trace," she said. "They're not pros by any means, but they're both fairly familiar with crime scene methodology." _Ellie from both sides_, she thought but didn't add.

"You're the expert," Brooks said, zipping up his jacket and squinting into the wind. "At least it ain't snowin'."

Even without snow, it was still damn cold. "Actually, snow would've been an improvement," Catherine said, pulling her hat down around her ears. "Better surface for tracks."

She studied the scene; the pickup truck sat nose-first in a ditch, just deep enough that it couldn't back out. Brass, in a winter jacket and an LVPD baseball cap pulled down almost to his nose, was pacing off the skid marks leading to the ditch. "Okay, I'll need to print the interior of the truck. In the meantime--"

She turned to Ellie and Lindsey, huddled in their jackets. "I'd like you two to check the perimeter around the car -- look for tracks, human or vehicle, or litter that might've belonged to the driver," she said. "Spread out in a radius of fifty feet, working in a spiral pattern with the car at the center. If you see anything, don't touch it, just call me over. And be careful around the ditch -- I don't want either of you breaking an arm."

"Yes, Mom," Lindsey said with an eye roll.

Ellie wrapped her arms around her chest. shivering. "You know it's frigging cold out here, right?"

"I know -- the sooner we finish this, the sooner we can get back inside. If you get too cold, go sit in the lieutenant's truck and warm up."

Muttering to herself, Ellie followed the teenager and started to search. Catherine picked up the somewhat antiquated print lifting kit Brooks had given her earlier and headed for the truck. The interior looked unremarkable; faded upholstery, no stains or obvious signs of trace. Even the floor mats were surprisingly clean. After pulling on a pair of gloves, she dug out the kit's dusting brush and laid a light layer of powder over the steering wheel, looking for prints. Nothing.

"Damn," she said quietly. Next was the door handle, the gearshift, and any control the perp might have checked. After a solid 20 minutes, she had a truck liberally daubed with fingerprint dust and no prints.

Brooks came up to the driver's side. "Find anything?"

"No, and that's weird. I should be finding prints, from Mack if nothing else, but all the surfaces in the car are clean. Looks like your perp wiped everything down before he left." She got out, then stopped when something caught her eye.

She leaned back into the cab, peering under the driver's seat. A piece of white paper with a corrugated edge was just visible; a bag of some sort. Feeling for the seat controls, she slid it forward, exposing a fast food sack. "Did Mack usually leave trash in his car?"

Brooks frowned. "Hell, no. You saw his place -- guy was a neat freak."

"Okay then." She picked up the bag, sorting through the contents. "Looks like we've got some used napkins, an empty french fry container, and a kid's meal box."

The lieutenant's jaw muscles clenched. "You're telling me the killer had a kid with him?"

"Or he liked to eat kid's meals," Catherine said. "Some adults do."

"Mom? I think I found something."

The CSI put the bag on the driver's seat and headed to Lindsey, who was crouched over something. "Looks like a toy," the teenager said. "It might've gotten tossed out of a car, but you said you wanted to see anything we found."

"Yeah, I do." Catherine knelt down next to the small plastic toy, pulling out her little Panasonic and photographing it. Once that was done, she picked up the toy and examined it. It was an action figure that came with the kid's meal.

The only unusual thing was the smeared reddish thumbprint on the figure's stomach. Catherine smiled. "Gotcha."

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

Back at the Jackpot police station, she finished lifting prints from the fast food containers, faxing the prints to the State Police and the LV Crime Lab with a note to the day shift Fingerprint tech that ID'ing the prints was a priority. The fast food sack was back in an evidence bag; she wished that could be faxed straight to Wendy's lab for processing, as well.

"Okay, they've got the print -- now we wait," she said, sitting down at the lieutenant's desk. Brooks and Brass were already there, poring over a map of the area where the truck had been found.

"I'm guessing he hid his own car on one of these side roads over here," Brooks said, pointing at a winding track. "He killed Mack, then drove the pickup out here, dumped it, and got in his own vehicle. That means premeditation."

"Yeah," Brass agreed. "But who else was in the truck? Killer's kid, girlfriend, kidnap victim, what?"

A memory flashed through Catherine's mind; the family pictures over the fireplace at the Jones home. "Lieutenant, have you been able to get in contact with Mack's daughter?" she asked.

He shook his head. "She's not answering her phone. I asked Elko PD to go by her place, see if she's home. Haven't heard back from them." His face clouded. "You think Janine is wrapped up in this?"

"Well, you said yourself that Mack Jones was paranoid -- he wouldn't let someone just walk up to him with a weapon. But if his daughter was involved somehow..."

"I will be dipped in shit." He blew out a breath, staring at the far wall. "Yeah, that would make sense. Janine had godawful taste in men, too -- used to drive Mack right up the wall."

Brass grunted. "I hear that."

Brooks' attention flickered to him. "I think I'm gonna give Elko another call and light a fire under some asses," he said. "In the meantime, I can have Dave drive you over to the garage -- Marty probably has your tire ready by now. I truly appreciate all your help, folks."

Brass looked surprised. "You're just kicking us out? We haven't even gotten the AFIS results yet."

"Well, I just figured you'd want to get on your way and all," Brooks admitted.

Catherine recognized the look on the Homicide captain's face; he had his teeth in the case now and didn't want to let go. _Oh, well -- we were supposed to head back tomorrow anyway._ "If you find the perp, you'll need someone who can process him for trace," she said. "We probably should hang around for another day, just in case."

Before Brooks could reply, her phone rang. "Hold on," she said, flipping it open. "Willows. Yeah, that's right. You sure? Okay, fax the results back here -- thanks, Jana."

She closed the phone, her face somber. "AFIS got a hit on a gaming work card," she said. "It belongs to Janine Jones."


	5. Chapter 5

Entry #3 in the "A Year in the Life" series. The Brillows clan takes a somewhat unplanned family vacation, and run into trouble in a little mountain town called Jackpot. You know the drill -- CSI is not my sandbox. If it were, Catherine would get more chances to dance.

* * *

99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall  
by Alice Day

* * *

CHAPTER FIVE

"Oh, hell," Brooks said bleakly. "I _know_ Janine -- I can't believe..." He trailed off, staring at his clenched fist on the desk. "Which print got the hit?"

"The one on the toy was the first," Catherine said, turning to the fax machine as it whined and ejected a set of printouts watermarked with the LVMPD's seven-pointed star. "Most of the prints on the fast food containers belonged to Janine, as well," she said, handing the printouts to Brooks. "There's a set of smaller prints that aren't in AFIS -- I'm guessing those belong to her daughter."

"Missy," Brooks grated. "Her daughter's name is Missy. You're trying to tell me that Janine brought her to her grandpa's murder?"

_God, I hope not._ "I don't know what the circumstances were," Catherine said diplomatically. "Missy may not have been in the house at all. But if the fingerprint on the toy is Mack's blood, it makes Janine a suspect."

"But not the only one," Brass said abruptly. "Lieutenant, how tall is Janine?"

"She's a short gal -- maybe 5'4". Why?"

Catherine caught it. "The driver's seat in the pickup was pushed all the way back," she said.

"Janine wouldn't have been able to reach the pedals if she was driving," Brass agreed. "Plus there were no prints on any of the truck surfaces, but prints on the food containers and the toy. I think we're still looking for a third person, someone taller than Janine, who knew enough to wipe down all the surfaces in the truck."

"Because he couldn't leave prints behind." The lieutenant's eyes glinted. "The sonofabitch did time."

"Yeah. Which means he's already in the system," Brass concluded. "But we can't ID him if we don't have his prints."

"We might have something else," Brooks said, grabbing his shoulder radio. "Andy, you there?"

The radio crackled. "Yeah, boss."

"I want you to head out to the Micky D's on 93. Tell them we want any and all surveillance video for the last two days -- if they give you any shit about it, have them call me."

"You got it."

A half hour later, the deputy returned with a pile of VHS tapes. Brooks, Brass and Catherine took them to the PD break room's elderly TV/VCR combo and started scanning.

Miracle of miracles, the restaurant manager had labeled each tape with the camera location, date and time range. Bracketing for the time frame around the murder, they struck gold on the tape from the drive-through window; a dark pickup truck pulled into view at 2:38 PM according to the timestamp. The driver, a white male in his mid thirties with dark hair and stubble, was clearly visible as he handed the cashier a bill, taking a sack and a drink in return. Janine Jones could be seen in the passenger seat, obviously upset.

"That's maybe ten minutes before he sideswiped us," Brass said, nodding. "Apparently the asshole shouldn't eat and drive at the same time."

"And it's definitely after the murder," Catherine added, spotting a small blonde head in the cab's back seat/cargo area. "Is that Missy in the back?"

"Can't tell," Brooks said. "But she was blonde last time I saw her, so yeah, probably." He hit the remote's PAUSE button, then ejected the tape. "Your lab's got facial recognition software, right?"

"Yes."

"Okay -- I don't have any way of sending pictures from a tape to your lab, so I'm going to run this over to the State Police headquarters and get them to do it," he said. "Then I'm gonna stop by Elko PD and see if there's been any complaints from Janine -- boyfriend beating on her, that sort of thing. If you could call your folks and give them a heads-up about the tape--"

"Not a problem," Catherine said, pulling out her phone.

As she spoke to the A/V tech, Brooks jerked his head at Brass, indicating that the Homicide captain should follow him to a corner. "If you folks really don't mind staying another day, I would appreciate it," he said quietly. "The faster we move on this, the better chance we have at catching that shitstain, and the troopers do tend to put it in gear if they think they're competing with Vegas Metro."

"I hear you," Brass said, fishing out a business card from his wallet. "If you need us, call. Just wish we could help you more."

"You're shitting me, right?" Brooks took the card and tucking it securely in his breast pocket. "You folks have already gone above and beyond, Captain."

"Jim."

The lieutenant's lips quirked in a half-smile. "Alan. I'll have Dave take you over to the garage so you can get your car. Keep your phone handy, just in case."

"I always do."

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

"I dunno about this," Lindsey said, her voice quavering.

"It's not that hard, Linds. You're already up and balancing -- now, just angle your right foot outwards a little bit and push off from it," Brass said, ignoring the pain from Lindsey's hands clamping down on his own.

She followed his instructions, lurching forward on the skates. "Now do the same thing with your other foot," he said quickly, gliding backward. "Yeah, that's right."

After retrieving a surprisingly patient pair of daughters from the station's waiting area (the fact that they were flirting with the tall blond deputy at the sergeant's desk had something to do with their improved mood, Brass guessed) and the now-functional Highlander from Marty Cooperman's garage, the LVPD captain had asked the taciturn garage owner a couple of questions. Soon afterwards, the Brillows clan found themselves at an outdoor ice skating rink next to the golf course. A gaggle of little girls dressed in adorable skating outfits (the effect was slightly marred by their very necessary winter jackets) practiced spins in the center of the rink under the watchful eye of an older woman, presumably their coach. Older kids and the occasional adult skated around the rink's outer edges, waving and calling to each other, while the sound system pumped out Valentine's Day classics.

In the far end, Brass was fulfilling a promise he'd made to Lindsey when she found out he played on the police department's hockey team. Unsurprisingly, the teenaged Las Vegan had never stepped foot onto an ice skating rink before, and wanted to try it. Also unsurprisingly, she landed on her rump almost seconds after getting onto the ice, and was now clutching his hands in a death grip.

"Honey, I can't feel my fingers," he said gently.

"Sorry." Her grip loosened slightly, but her face was still locked in a grimace. "I didn't think it was going to be this hard."

"Hey, you're doing a lot better than I did my first time," Ellie said, gliding past them. "Just try and land on your butt if you fall -- it hurts less than your knees."

Lindsey glared at her. "Thank you, Tonya Harding."

Ellie grinned at the teenager and zoomed off. "You've got a mouth on you, Linds," Brass observed.

"Yeah, it comes out when I panic," Lindsey muttered, wobbling and clutching his hands again.

A good half hour and three more tumbles later, an innate sense of rhythm finally kicked in and she started skating cautiously around the rink, arms half held out from her body for balance. Catherine joined her, following a few paces behind in case her daughter's tentative agreement with friction and gravity ran out.

"Not bad, Coach," Ellie said, moving alongside Brass. "Her ass is going to hurt like hell tomorrow, though."

"Yeah," he said regretfully. "Remind me to stop off and get some Aleve before we hit the road."

"Sure." He was surprised when she threaded her arm around his, matching his glide. "God, I haven't been on skates in years," she said. "I forgot how much fun it is."

Brass remembered a four-year-old girl holding onto his hands and giggling as he towed her round the ice rink near their home, and his throat tightened. "Well, you still got it," he said, squeezing her arm. "So, how ya doing, Snowflake?"

She smirked at his use of her childhood nickname, then sighed. "Actually, not that great," she said slowly. "I, um...I lied when I said I had the weekend off." She flicked a glance at him, obviously trying to judge his reaction. "They cut my hours at the club -- I'm only working four nights a week, now."

He studied her. "You okay for money?"

"I've got enough to pay this month's rent, but after that..." She shrugged. "I'm trying to find another job, but it's tough -- the economy really sucks in LA right now."

"Baby--"

The old defiance gleamed in her eyes, and she pulled away from him. "Don't worry, Dad. I'm not going to start hooking again."

"I didn't think you were."

"Good." She turned so that she was skating backward, facing him. "But I wouldn't say no to a loan. I'll pay you back, I promise."

The memory of December sent a twinge through his gut. She immediately flushed, staring at the ice. "I didn't mean--"

"I know what you meant, baby," he said gently. "Look, can I make a suggestion?"

"I'm already looking for a roommate."

"No, that's not -- well, actually, yeah, that was what I was thinking," he admitted. "Thing is, I know a great roommate -- wouldn't hassle you, could cover your rent while you looked for a job, and makes a mean spaghetti sauce."

His meaning sank in, and she slid to a stop. "Dad, I can't move in with you," she said, sounding tired.

He angled his blades slightly, stopping next to her. "Yeah, I can't blame you for feeling that way," he said quietly. "Look, the last time I asked you to stay with me, it was for the wrong reasons. I just wanted...to be back in your life again, you know? My intentions were good, but my execution sucked." He sighed, his breath puffing into little clouds of vapor. "Thing is, I never asked you what _you_ wanted to do. I just wanted you to come back, no questions asked. And you deserved answers, especially about what really happened between your mom and me." He couldn't bring himself to say Mike O'Toole's name out loud. "I will always be sorry that I was too chickenshit to be honest with you that night," he said, toeing the ice. "Would've saved you a world of hurt in the long run."

She stared at him, a welter of emotions shifting across her face; anger, and regret, and something he prayed to God was love. "I can't believe you're saying this," she muttered.

He shook his head. "Yeah, well, I've had a lot of time to think about things," he said. "You told me that I still think of you as that little girl in the picture on my desk, and you're right. Until last December, she was the only Ellie I really knew." He rubbed his gloved hand along his left hip, trying to find the right words. "I'm just getting to know the grown-up Ellie, and man, she's something else. She's tough, and smart, and she's busting her ass so hard to make a life for herself, and I just want to help her," he said. "So if it's better for you to stay in LA, then you stay in LA and I'll help you as much as I can. It's just that I can do more for you if you're in Vegas -- give you a room, get you some wheels, help you find somewhere to work, stuff like that. But it's your decision. Either way, I'm gonna be here for you this time."

She shifted on the ice, her hair swinging forward to curtain her face. The gesture was achingly familiar, and he fought down an urge to smooth it behind her ears. "Can I think about it?" she said slowly.

He nodded. "Take all the time you need."

"'Kay." Hesitantly, she looked into his eyes, the same way she had when he'd first held her in the hospital so many years ago. As if a newborn could say, _I know I'm not yours, but will you love me anyway?_

The same fierce love washed over him again. _I'll always love you, Ellie. Always._

To his surprise, she closed the gap and hugged him. "Thanks, Dad," she whispered.

"You're welcome, Snowflake."

A doubled yelp and a thump interrupted them; they turned in time to see the Willows family in a pileup near the middle of the rink. "Oh, crap," Brass sighed. "Coming, Cath..."

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

Ellie ran the makeup brush over her cheeks one last time, then grinned at her reflection. She still couldn't believe they'd made it to the Snowcap Lounge; Lindsey had spent the rest of the afternoon complaining about her sore butt and knees, and her dad was all for camping out at the Brooks house and watching TV until Catherine leaned down and whispered something in his ear. A pink tinge spread across his cheeks, and he looked up at the strawberry blonde with an expression Ellie hadn't seen since she was a little girl, before things got bad between her parents.

_Damn. They're not just hooking up -- he's really into her._

She pursed her lips, trying to ignore the flicker of jealousy. _He loves me, too._ And happy Dad with a girlfriend was definitely an improvement over grumpy single Dad. She'd never admit it, but what he said at the rink floored her. _It's like he finally gets it, how I felt all those years, and why I was so mad at him. _And the invitation to move to Las Vegas--

She shook her head. _Gotta think about that._

She jammed the makeup kit back into her purse, fluffing her hair one last time, then headed out of the Ladies room. As Sterling predicted, the lounge was pretty well packed with locals and tourists celebrating the holiday, and a surprising number of them were out on the dance floor. She could just see her dad, arms around Catherine as they danced to Taylor Swift's "Love Story." Lindsey was off to the side near the restrooms, chatting with a tall, dark-haired boy.

Ellie ambled over. "Hey."

The teenager turned and grinned at her. "Heya. This is Kevin -- he's from Vegas, too."

"Well, Henderson," Kevin admitted. "We're up here visiting my grandparents -- God, I thought this weekend was going to suck."

"It just got better," Lindsey said, tugging on his arm and nodding at the dance floor. "Oh, Ellie, I saw Dr. Sterling -- he's at the bar."

"Thanks." Ellie worked her way through the crowd, pausing when she saw the veterinarian. Like most of the local men, he wore slacks and a neatly pressed long-sleeved shirt; the outfit was a huge improvement on his lab coat and jeans. The tall glass in his hand looked like plain Coke, and he seemed nervous as he scanned the crowd. She felt a sudden flutter of pleasure when she realized he was looking for her.

Before she could join him, Doris came in with a big guy in flannel and a gimme cap. Ellie's eyes narrowed when she realized the waitress had spotted Sterling and deliberately strolled past him, clutching her date's arm and smirking. After a painful moment, Sterling looked away from his ex-wife and stared at his drink.

Ellie felt an odd flare of protectiveness towards the vet. Okay, so he was sort of quiet -- that didn't make him a bad guy. And that shit Doris pulled was just cold.

Her lips curled in a sudden, evil smile. _You think he's boring? Well, watch this, bitch._

Putting an extra wiggle in her walk, she strutted over to the bar and leaned against it in a way that pushed everything she had out on display. "Hey, Doc," she murmured.

The dejected look on his face disappeared, replaced by a cautious smile. "Miss Brass. I was hoping you'd be here."

"Wouldn't miss it. And I see your ex is here, too." She looked across the dance floor, where Doris now appeared to be licking her date's tonsils. "So, want to make her head explode?"

He followed her glance. "Um...actually, yes."

She grinned. "Good. Follow me."

Taking his hand, she pulled him onto the dance floor in time for the next song. A slow, sultry guitar growled out the introduction to Bonnie Raitt's "Love Letter," and Ellie almost purred in anticipation. _This is going to be hella fun._

"Trust me, okay?" She reached up and plucked off his glasses, sticking them on her own head like sunglasses.

He blinked, squinting. "I can't see anything."

"That's the point. Don't look at her -- that's what she wants. Just look at me and do what I do." She moved in close, snuggling her arms around the vet's waist. Obediently, he put his arms around her shoulders.

Her hands moved down to just above what she judged to be a nicely firm butt, sliding around his hips before coming back up to his waist. Sterling's eyes widened, but that was his only reaction. She licked her lips, giving him a smoldering look from under her lashes, and began to grind gently against him.

Now he looked slightly panicked. "Um--"

"We're messing with your ex," she said through a sexy smile. "If I'm not your type, pretend you're dancing with Angelina Jolie or something."

"Uh...okay." His right hand stayed at the nape of her neck, playing with the fine hair there. The other hand cautiously moved down her back, coming to a rest just above her waistband. To her surprise, it felt kind of nice. "I haven't done this in a while."

"Don't worry -- let me do the work." She did a fast scan of the room. They had people's attention, now. As Bonnie growled about a war she was going to win, Sterling's body language finally changed, becoming more relaxed. Ellie moved so that his thigh slid between hers, and wiggled her hips as a hint. He followed her lead, bending his knees as they did a classic dirty dancing shimmy.

She spun without breaking contact, her hands stroking down his thighs as she did a slow wiggle down and up his front. His hands slid along her upper arms, subtly balancing her as she moved. She noticed with satisfaction that Doris was gaping at them in shock, her trucker stud forgotten.

She turned around and saw a delighted veterinarian beaming at her. Grinning, she slid her arms around his neck. "I think I see steam coming out of her ears," she said above the music.

"Good."

The song powered into the final verse. Throwing her head back, she pressed as close as she could get, grinding against him with cheerful abandon. The shyness was completely gone now, replaced with something loose and liquid, and a look of pure delight burned on his face.

He leaned forward, brushing his lips against her ear. "If I dip you at the end, that'll really tick her off," he whispered.

"Go for it."

Sterling wrapped his arm around her waist in a firm grip, then turned. Ellie fell back on cue, letting his arms take her weight as she looked up into his face. _Damn, he has seriously pretty eyes._

The dancers around them, including a bemused Lt. Brooks and his date, hooted and cheered at their flourish. The veterinarian brought her back up to a standing position, and she slid out of his arms, trying to make it look as reluctant as possible. To her surprise, he took her hand and kissed it. "May I escort you to the bar for a drink, Miss Brass?" he asked.

"I would be delighted, Doc," she said, extracting his glasses and putting them back on him. Tucking her hand in the crook of his arm, she turned to give Doris a very satisfied smile.

A glowering Jim Brass was waiting for her instead. "Excuse me, Doc," he said through gritted teeth, "but I need to have a little chat with my daughter."

* * *

**A/N: Yeah, yeah, I know, but I'm setting something up here for later in the series. There will be more casefile in the next ch****apter, I promise.**


	6. Chapter 6

Entry #3 in the "A Year in the Life" series. The Brillows clan takes a somewhat unplanned family vacation, and run into trouble in a little mountain town called Jackpot. You know the drill -- CSI is not my sandbox. If it were, there would be more exciting night-time chase sequences.

* * *

99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall  
by Alice Day

* * *

CHAPTER SIX

Brass watched his daughter's expression change, sliding back into the angry mask of her teenage years. "Great -- what did I do wrong now?" she said.

"I just need to talk to you," he said, his eyes glinting. "Outside."

Scowling, she turned to Sterling. "I'm sorry about this. Just...wait here, okay?"

Brass ignored the vet's concerned look and escorted Ellie to the coat check room, then to the lounge's parking lot. Once there, she spun and glared at him. "Okay, I'm outside. What the hell are you _doing_?" she demanded.

"I could ask you the same thing," Brass growled back. "When the hell did you start doing public lap dances?"

She snorted. "Oh, please -- if I did a lap dance you'd know it," she said. "I just wanted to make that skank from the diner squirm a little."

His jaw muscles bunched. "For Christ's sake, Ellie, you had half the guys in there squirming, all over _you_," he said. "And what the hell were you doing dancing with that scumbag, anyway? Or is your abusive loser magnet still on--"

The moment the words were out he wanted to pull them back, but the damage was done. Ellie jerked as if slapped, her eyes narrowing to furious slits.

"Screw you, _Jim_," she snarled, spinning on one booted heel and storming out of the parking lot.

Brass sagged inside his winter coat, knee-jerk anger overcome with an abrupt wave of regret. _This wasn't supposed to happen anymore, dammit._

"Ellie," he called, starting after her. "Honey, wait--"

Someone grabbed his arm, and he realized it was Catherine. "Let her go, Jim," she warned.

"I _can't_--"

She took his other arm, making him face her. "I'm telling you, you go charging after her like this, and you will never get her back," the CSI warned. "I don't know what you thought you were doing, hauling her out of there like that, but she's got every right to be pissed off at you right now."

"_She's_ pissed off at _me_?" Brass sputtered. "I wasn't the one out there whoring it up like a str--"

This time he managed to stop, swallowing the rest of the word, but the context came across loud and clear. Catherine's blue eyes grew chilly. "You know, you can be a real prudish pain in the ass sometimes," she said in a clipped tone.

Before he could say anything, her phone rang. She fished it out of her purse and flipped it open, hitting the Speaker button. "Willows."

"Hi, Catherine," Archie Johnson said. "Aren't you supposed to be on vacation or something?"

She frowned at Brass. "It's a long story. You pulling a triple?"

"No -- Dana on swing shift had something at her kid's school, so I'm covering for her," the A/V tech explained. "I just finished processing that footage from your surveillance tape, and I ran it through a couple of facial recognition databases. We got a hit."

"Tell me."

"Your perp is Willard Jefferson Moses, 31, lives near Elko, auto mechanic and member of the Greater Nevada Militia," Archie recited. "They're pretty much the premier survivalist group in the state. Your boy's rap sheet is pretty impressive -- possession of a gun, possession of explosive materials, assault, vehicular assault, etc. He's currently on parole for beating holy hell out of a security guard -- apparently he's got a particular grudge against anyone with a badge."

"Yeah, that doesn't surprise me," Catherine said. "Get his rap sheet, mug shot and fingerprints, and fax them over to the State Police station in Elko and the Jackpot PD. And thanks, Archie."

"You bet -- have a nice Valentine's Day."

She clicked the phone closed. "Well, that explains the way Mack and Slugger were attacked," she said, her tone clinical.

"Yeah. We better get Brooks," he said heavily. "And Catherine--"

"We'll talk later. Right now, let's just catch this asshole."

Stiffly, she headed back into the lounge. Brass watched her go, then turned and stared after Ellie for a long moment.

_Nice job, Jim -- a twofer. You're getting really good at pissing off the women you love._

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

Ellie stalked down the street, cursing lawmen, cold weather, dances and whatever made her think it would be a good idea to come to Vegas for Valentine's Day. _Jesus, I can't believe I actually thought about staying with him. Yeah, that would work, as long as I put my hair up in ponytails and pretend to be six years old again so that Mister Bigshot Lawman doesn't feel like a fuckup. God help me if I act my age -- then I'm just some coked-up slut who has to be rescued. Well, fuck him, and fuck his money -- I'll move back to Jersey if I can't find another job. I can take care of myself. I don't need him._

She swiped the heel of her hand across her eye, hating the moisture there. "Don't cry, you fucking idiot," she muttered to herself, kicking viciously at a small rock on the sidewalk. The back of her neck tingled as she heard a car pull up alongside her. She hunched into her jacket, seething. _If that's Dad, I swear to God I'm gonna punch him. And if some douchebag asks how much--_

"Miss Brass?"

She almost stumbled, and turned. A battered Jeep Grand Cherokee idled at the curb; Dr. Sterling was just visible through the open passenger window. "Hi. I wanted to make sure you were all right," he said apologetically. "Your dad looked kinda upset back there."

Ellie gave him a furious look. "My dad is a screaming, bleeding asshole," she grated.

He blinked. "Wow. That's a little harsh, isn't it?"

"You don't know him like I do."

"That's true. Um, can I give you a ride somewhere?"

She threw her arms out, gesturing at the almost deserted street. "To where?" she demanded. "I'm not going back to that house, and as far as I can tell this place doesn't have a Greyhound station."

"We have a bus service to Reno and Vegas, but the next one won't come in until tomorrow night," he admitted. "Look, it's cold out and you're not really dressed for it -- how about you get in and we'll talk about options? There's got to be a way you can get back to Los Angeles."

She scowled, hating the way his reasonable tone made her want to curl up and cry. It didn't help that he was right; her leather jacket cut the wind but did nothing for insulation, and her new boots already hurt. For a moment, she felt a horrible temptation to offer him an all access pass -- anal, oral, whatever he wanted -- if he just drove her back to nice, warm LA.

_Yeah, except that he wouldn't go for it -- guys like him never do. And the last thing you need is another wannabe white knight._

"Miss Brass?"

She ran a hand through her hair. "A ride. Fine, whatever," she muttered, yanking open the passenger door and climbing in. Along with the welcome warmth was a strong smell of dog, and she winced.

Sterling noticed her reaction. "Sorry. I have to transport animals in the back sometimes," he explained. "I should've asked -- are you allergic?"

"No. Don't worry about it." She grabbed her seat belt and buckled it. "So where are we going?"

"Ah. Good question," he said, obviously thinking. "Well, you already saw most of downtown, such as it is. How about we go down our version of the Strip, then maybe do a tour of the foothills? It's kind of pretty -- lots of folks have cabins up there, and you can see the whole town from Wilson Point."

She shrugged, folding her arms across her chest. "You've got the wheel -- drive."

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

"I think I know where they are," Brooks said, buttoning up his uniform shirt. His dress shirt from the lounge lay where it had been tossed in his office chair; Catherine quietly stepped out into the bullpen when it became apparent the lieutenant was too intent on their news to notice he was changing in front of her. "Mack had this old cabin up in the foothills -- used it for hunting. Sometimes a bunch of us would go up there and play poker with him on our days off."

"A cabin. Yeah, a survivalist would definitely go for something like that," Brass allowed. "But if he had any brains, you'd think he'd hit the border and head up into Idaho."

Brooks pulled his gunbelt on. "You run into a lot of criminals with brains, Jim?" he asked, pulling his sidearm and checking the clip. "I don't. Besides, I got the feeling Moses is looking for something that he didn't find at the house."

"Like what?"

"Oh, like seventy-five thousand dollars or so."

Brass blinked at the figure. Even for him, that was a lot of money. For a survivalist who lived on mountain meat and was happy with a shack... "Sounds like a lot of cash for a retired cop to have," he said carefully.

"You didn't know Mack -- man would pinch a penny until Lincoln screamed," Brooks said. "When the economy started taking a nosedive, he figured he'd rather have the cash on hand, so he pulled everything out of his savings account and money market fund."

"And you didn't mention this when we were at the crime scene _why_?"

"You didn't need to know." Brooks shrugged. "Now you do. Considering that the house wasn't tossed, I'm guessing Moses knew the money wasn't there -- he must have been beating on Mack to get the location out of him."

The repeated blows to Mack's head and body and the abuse of Slugger made more sense now, Brass thought. The survivalist wasn't just taking his frustration out on an ex-cop and his dog -- he was torturing them for information. It didn't need to be said that the initial info about the money's existence had to come from Janine Jones -- Mack would have made sure that his only daughter knew about the cash in case he died. _Hell, Ellie checked on my pension when I was in the hospital, didn't she?_

_Where the hell __**are**__ you, Ellie?_

"How do you know the money wasn't there?" he said out loud.

The lieutenant's expression went closed. "No cop in his right mind would hide that kind of money in his house, or anywhere else he lived. Too easy to get to."

"Yeah," Brass said slowly. "He'd want to keep it somewhere safe, but where he could get at it in an emergency." The two lawmen locked gazes for a long moment, then Brass looked away. "And that's none of my business," he said gruffly. "But you know this isn't looking good for Janine, right?"

Brooks sighed. "I know. We'll get into that when we find her. Come on -- time to talk to the troops."

They headed for the squad room. The bulk of the Jackpot police force was waiting for them; judging from some of the clothing choices, Brooks wasn't the only one who had been pulled away from a date. Both Willows women were in the back, arms folded identically as they scanned the room. Brass left the lieutenant, making his way through the uniforms to Catherine's side.

"All right, listen up," Brooks said. "We're looking for a Caucasian male in his early thirties, name of Willard Moses. Andy, pass out those mugshots."

Andy started handing around printouts. "Mr. Moses is a member in good standing of the Greater Nevada Militia, which means he's probably packing everything he can carry," Brooks continued. "Plus he knows explosives, which is just gonna make this even more interesting. We figure he's holed up at Mack's cabin right now -- he has Janine and Missy, too, so we can't go busting on in there." He gave his crew a long, steady look. "We've handled these militia types before, so you all know what to do -- everyone dig out your vests and wear the damn things, make sure you're loaded for bear and you've got extra magazines, then stop by the armory and sign out a rifle." He pointed at a group of men clustered near the door. "Andy, Rich, Dave and Jackson, I want you to set up a perimeter around Mack's cabin -- nobody goes in, nobody comes out. Delilah, Jerry and Bill, you go door to door outside the perimeter and check cabins -- you find anyone, shoo 'em back into town. Dan, Pete, Katie, you check out the usual kid hangouts and bust up any parties. I want that area deserted by midnight. Once it's clear, we're going to make contact with Moses and see if we can talk some sense into him." His face went grim. "And if that doesn't work, we may have to let some daylight into him. Go."

Brass leaned against the back wall, arms crossed as he watched the officers file out. "I still think you ought to wait for the state troopers," he said when Brooks came up to him.

The lieutenant shook his head. "Jim, I play poker with those good ol' boys -- they'll come storming in here like Rambo on 'roids," he said. "I don't give a rat's ass about Moses, but they'd probably get Janine and Missy killed in the process. I am not gonna let this turn into another Ruby Ridge -- we'll take Moses down ourselves."

The Homicide captain nodded tightly. "Need any help?"

Brooks considered him. "Officially, you're not a member of this department, so I'm supposed to consider you a civilian and tell you to stay the hell out. Realistically, my momma didn't raise any stupid kids. Consider yourself deputized. But." He pointed a finger at Brass. "That means you work for me, so you stay with me and do what I tell you to do, when I tell you to do it. You don't know the area like we do, and I'll be damned if I turn Ms. Willows into a widow before she's had a chance to be a bride, comprende?"

Brass saw Catherine flush. _Like she'd have me after what I said._ "Got it," he said.

"Good. Let's move out."

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

Ellie leaned her forehead against the passenger side window, watching the dark foliage of the foothills roll by. Below, the twinkling lights of Jackpot glowed in the darkness like a toy Vegas plunked down in the middle of a plateau. "This _is_ sort of pretty," she murmured.

"Yup. Used to come up here all the time with my friends when I was a kid," Sterling said. "We'd camp out over a weekend, take potshots at birds with BB guns, and think we were all grown up." He laughed. "There was this rock formation behind a stand of pines that we called the fort -- I think we fought off everything from Indians to aliens there."

"Aliens?"

He shrugged. "I watched Star Trek when I was a kid. Always thought those blue-skinned aliens with the antennae were kind of cool."

They passed a short entrance to a parking lot on a ridge. "And this is Wilson Point," he said, slowing down. "Like I said, you can pretty much see the entire town from here."

Ellie studied the parking lot. A number of cars were already parked there, all of them with steamed-up windows; it was fairly obvious what else the vantage point was used for. "So you brought me to the local makeout spot?" she said, amused.

Sterling's eyes went wide in sudden horror. "_Oh_. God, no, I'm sorry," he stammered, "I didn't mean--"

_Nice guys, I swear._ She reached over and patted his arm. "It's okay, Doc -- I'm just teasing."

"Oh. Okay. Let's, um...let's get out of here," he muttered, hitting the gas.

They drove along in silence for a couple of minutes before he cleared his throat. "I really am sorry about that," he said. "I haven't been up here in awhile -- I forgot about Wilson Drive after dark."

"It's okay, really," she said. A sudden playful urge hit her. "Although I think I'm a little insulted. I mean, you didn't even _try_ to talk me into a tour."

He glanced at her. "You're teasing again, right?"

"Maybe." She grinned. "Maybe not."

He thought for a moment, then nodded. "You're an evil woman, Miss Brass," he said solemnly.

She preened. "I know--"

A shockingly loud bang ricocheted through the car, and the rear windows exploded in a shower of glass. Ellie yelped, hunching into a ball as the vehicle lurched forward.

"What the--" Sterling flinched hard as the back seat window exploded next, the whine of the bullet obvious now. "Jesus!"

A third bullet took out one of the tires. The Jeep skewed sickeningly across the road, bumping into the right-hand ditch before coming to a jolting stop. Panting in fear, Ellie realized Sterling had bent over the center console; he grabbed her shoulder, roughly pulling her lower. "Stay down," he hissed, reaching for her seat belt release. "Open the door, jump out and head down the hill. Stay as low as you can."

Her belt popped open. "What--"

"Do it!"

She fumbled for the door handle and jerked it open, rolling out of the Jeep. The cold dirt of the ditch slapped against her palms, and she struggled into a crouch. The only light came from the quarter moon overhead, dimly illuminating the dirt road, and next to it a slope surfaced with dark scrub, trees and rocks.

Another bullet smacked into the vehicle. Stifling a scream, Ellie scrambled down the hill. The loose, dry topsoil slid badly under her boots and she grabbed at anything she could for balance, trying to stop herself from tumbling down the slope. She gasped as her foot slammed into a rock and she tripped, grabbing a scrubby pine at the last minute. Using the springy branches to slingshot herself behind the tree, she risked a look upslope. Sterling was clambering down the hill in a much more controlled slide than her own, something long in one hand.

"Over here!" she hissed.

He slid to a stop next to her tree, copying her move and twisting into the tree's shadow. "You okay?" he rasped.

"Y-yeah." She stared up at the dark hill. "Who's shooting at us?"

"Don't know--"

Another bullet whined down the hill and they both ducked. "But they're not stopping," Sterling said, grabbing her wrist. "Come _on_."

Swallowing hard, she obeyed.

* * *

**A/N: Yes, that was a deliberate in-joke for the Trekkies. Just be grateful I didn't add a reference to glowing green syringes.**


	7. Chapter 7

Entry #3 in the "A Year in the Life" series. The Brillows clan takes a somewhat unplanned family vacation, and run into trouble in a little mountain town called Jackpot. You know the drill -- CSI is not my sandbox. If it were, Brass would get more chances to be a Big Damn Hero.

* * *

99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall  
by Alice Day

* * *

CHAPTER SEVEN

The police SUVs moved in a discreet convoy across the nighttime plateau, finally turning onto a dirt road that led into the foothills around Jackpot. Brass tried to adjust his borrowed Kevlar vest, wincing a bit at the straps dug into his shoulders. _Just be grateful they had a spare, and don't think about Willie Cutler. Or Bell. That isn't going to happen again, dammit._

The Homicide captain closed his eyes for a moment, remembering Catherine and the way she'd dragged him off to a corner before the convoy set out. "I can't stop you from going, can I?" she said.

He took her hands, grateful that she didn't pull away. "Baby, how many of these kids you think have been in a shootout?" he said quietly. "Brooks can use me, even if I just stand there and relay orders."

"All right. But I expect you to come back in one piece," she said, before leaning in and giving him a single, fierce kiss. "We still need to talk."

He watched her wrap an arm around Lindsey and head back into the break room to wait. Even with the situation ahead of him, he felt a sliver of anxiety float away. They still had to talk, but he hadn't lost her.

_Please, Ellie, just come back._

Next to him, Brooks studied the road. "We're closing in on Mack's cabin. Once we get into position, I want you to coordinate between our group and the guys on the perimeter," he instructed.

"Got it."

The car radio squawked. "Boss, this is Andy."

Brooks grabbed the handset and clicked the button. "Brooks."

"Boss, we just found the doc's jeep on the road down the hill from Mack's cabin. The back windows and one tire were shot out -- looks like there's a round in the engine, too."

As far as Brass knew, there was only one "doc" in Jackpot. Brooks' expression went tight. "Was he there?"

"Nope, and we didn't see any blood. What do you want us to do?"

The lieutenant scowled. "Go ahead and set up the perimeter -- if he got out of there in one piece, we'll find him later. Lemme know when you're in place."

"Roger."

Brooks clicked the handset back onto the hook. "God_damn_ it, Dale," he growled.

Brass glanced at his new superior. "You think he's okay?"

"He hasn't been okay since 1991," Brooks said cryptically. "But he knows this area better than anyone -- if he didn't take a round, he's probably hightailing it back to town. I hope."

A few minutes later, they spotted a police SUV blocking the road ahead. Brooks pulled alongside it; Brass recognized the driver as the tall young blond who had been flirting with Ellie and Lindsey.

"All the cabins in the area are clear, and Katie's shooing the last of the kids at Wilson Point back to town," he said. "We're good to go when you are, boss."

"Okay," Brooks said, grabbing the radio mike again. "Let's get the wagons into a circle, people. Check in when you're in position, then turn your damn cell phones off -- if I hear one ringtone tonight I'm gonna stick your phone where the sun doesn't shine."

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

Ellie gritted her teeth, forcing herself to ignore the throbbing pain in her left foot as she staggered along behind Sterling. From the feel of it, slamming her foot into that rock had broken at least one toe, maybe more. And there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it until they'd gotten away from the maniac with the gun.

_You can do this, Jersey -- suck it up, just keep moving._

She had no idea how far they'd come or where they were going. All she knew was that Sterling kept pulling her through unseen holes in the dark brush, keeping her upright as they moved downslope. Every other step felt like hot slivers of glass, and she fought to keep herself from moaning. _Suck it up, suck it up--_

He yanked her behind a tree, and she gasped as she fell against the rough bark. Trying to get her breathing under control, she stared at the focused stranger who'd replaced the shy veterinarian she'd danced with earlier. _ Jesus, it's like watching Sheldon Cooper turn into Jack Bauer._

Sterling glanced at her, frowning. "Are you all right?"

She shook her head. "My foot. I think something's broken."

He grimaced. "Okay, I know a place where we can hide -- it's about ten minutes away. Think you can make it?"

She winced, trying not to flex her agonized toes. "Do I have a choice?"

"Not really."

"Shit. Okay, let's go."

The next ten minutes would become her new standard for hell.

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

The cabin up on the ridge was an old one, but well-kept and weather tight. Inside one window, a dim light could just be seen. Next to the cabin was an old red pickup truck heavily caked in mud. One of the deputies had already run the plates, confirming that it was Willard Moses' vehicle.

The police SUVs were now lined up in a staggered chevron along the road. The police officers were in place behind opened doors, rifles aimed at the cabin. Brooks nodded at Brass, who thumbed his radio. "Perimeter, you ready?" he murmured.

Four voices crackled back acknowledgement.

"Okay, let's do this," Brooks said, pulling out a bullhorn and thumbing the button. "Willard Moses, this is Lieutenant Brooks of the Jackpot Police Department." His amplified words echoed along the scrubby foothills. "We know you're in there -- put down your weapon and come out with your hands up."

The echoes died, and the cabin door remained closed. "Moses!" Brooks barked. "This is your last chance -- come out with your hands up!"

There was no response.

Brooks frowned. "Figures. All right -- tell Andy and Jackson to fire a couple of smoke bombs through the windows."

Brass went to press the radio button, then hesitated. Something was pinging his gut, hard. The pickup parked right next to the cabin, the lack of response, the single light in the window, almost as if Moses wanted them to know someone was there. _Something's wrong. _

"Alan, I got a bad feeling about this," he muttered.

The taller man gave him an annoyed look. "It's a little late to be getting the heebie-jeebies."

"No -- it's like he's daring us to rush the place. What if he left Janine and Missy in there, then booby-trapped the cabin? We could set something off if we start tossing shit through the windows."

Brooks chewed his lip. "You got a point. Who's on perimeter behind the cabin?"

"Rich."

"Good -- sneaky SOB thinks he's James Bond." He thumbed his radio. "Rich, this is Brooks. You got that night scope with you?"

"Yup."

"We think Moses might've booby-trapped the windows. You think you can get a good look at one and check it out?"

"Yeah, boss. Gimme ten."

They waited, all senses tuned to the small cabin on the hill. Finally, the lieutenant's radio crackled. "Boss, I can see some sort of wire taped to the inside of the window, like a security system," Rich reported. "There's also a godawful bunch of holes dug up behind the cabin."

Brooks smirked. "He was looking for something. Okay, get back into position--"

"Wait -- I can see someone on the floor," the deputy said. "I think it's Janine -- shit, boss, she's banged up something bad. And Missy's next to her."

Brooks cursed. "What about Moses?"

"Don't see him."

"Okay. Recon the rest of the windows, check for wires, and for God's sake don't get your ass shot off."

The lieutenant thumbed off the radio, and Brass could hear his teeth grinding together. "So either he's out in the hills somewhere, waiting to pick us off--"

"Or he took off after Sterling," Brass said. "You know these GNM types -- what's he more likely to do?"

Brooks blew out a harsh breath. "Playing sniper isn't their MO," he decided. "And Dale's Jeep looks like one of our SUVs in the dark -- Moses might have thought he was a cop. Sonofabitch's gonna be in for a surprise there."

Before Brass could ask why, the radio chirped. "Boss, all the windows got those wires on them. Can't see anything on the front door, but I ain't gonna try it."

"Yeah, don't. Perimeter, stay where you are -- do not try and enter." Brooks glanced at his newest deputy and nodded. "Okay, _now_ it's time to call in the troopers. My guys don't know shit about bombs."

Brass ran the situation in his head. It would take a bomb squad unit from the state police at least ninety minutes to get there; depending on what Moses did to her, Janine could die in that amount of time. Plus there was a little girl trapped in that cabin. No matter how Janine was mixed up in her dad's murder, Missy didn't deserve to pay for her mother's mistakes.

_So much for talking -- Catherine's gonna ream me a new one for this._ "Moses' truck is still here, so he must've planned on coming back," he pointed out. "I did a stint with Marines EOS -- Explosive Ordinance Disposal. It was a while ago, but I don't think this schmo is a rocket scientist when it comes to things that go boom. Lemme take a look at the door, see if I can figure out what he did."

Brooks stared at him. "First Grissom, now you," he said, shaking his head. "Jesus Christ, what is _wrong_ with you people in Vegas?"

"Hell if I know," Brass admitted. "Look, normally I'd be happy to wait for the troopers, but--"

"Janine and Missy, yeah, I know." After a long moment the other man sighed, then pulled something off his belt. "Fuck a swan. If we're gonna do it, let's go do it."

Brass plucked the Leatherman tool from his hand. "What's this 'we' shit, white man?" he said. "You stay here with your people -- if I need help, trust me, you'll know."

Brooks snorted. "Fine, but watch your ass."

Throwing him something halfway between a wave and a salute, Brass started up the hill, keeping as low to the ground as possible, and painfully aware that every breath stood out in the cold night air as a white puff of vapor. _Yeah, you better hope Moses went after the vet, Jimmy boy, because you're making yourself one heap big target right now._

He paused five feet away from the cabin door and got to his hands and knees, almost putting the side of his head against the ground as he studied the approach. No tripwires. Good. Raising up to a crouch, he frogwalked to the door and examined it.

There it was, right at the bottom hinge. A pull-loop switch -- two stripped loops strung around each other's wires, one wire deliberately snagged on a nail in the doorjamb and the other on a nail in the door. All it would take was someone to open the door, tugging the stripped loops into contact, and boom.

"You asshole," Brass muttered. Crouching down, he carefully cut through the wires, then slid a wire out of one bare copper loop, breaking the trigger circuit. _Okay, let's see just how smart you are. _He licked suddenly dry lips and wrapped his hand around the door handle, pressing the thumb latch.

The door creaked open. Easing it back, he peered around it and spotted the pull-loop wires. They were attached to a pipe bomb lashed to the back of the door with duct tape. _Oh, yeah, this is great._ Sucking in his gut and praying the vest wouldn't catch on anything, he eased through the opening, pulling his weapon and Maglite as soon as he was clear.

He played the beam around the single room. Propane heater against the far wall, camping stove set up next to it, folding captain's chairs scattered around the room, what looked like a folding table against the right wall next to a cot. Five windows, one each in the back and side walls, two flanking the door. A pipe bomb was lashed under each window, trip wires leading to the dusty glass.

And two shapes huddled in the middle of the cabin floor.

Brass holstered the gun and knelt next to Janine Jones. The woman lay on her side, contorted into an S shape. Her face looked badly bruised, evidence of Moses' interrogation techniques, and she clutched her stomach and moaned softly. Next to her, Missy Jones stared at him with huge, terrified blue eyes.

"Hey, you must be Missy," Brass said softly, shining the light on his own face. "My name's Jim -- I'm a policeman, like your grandpa." When she didn't react, he fished his badge out of his pocket and showed it to her. "See, here's my badge. I'm going to get your mom and you out of here, okay?"

The girl cringed against her mother's side. "The bad man," she whimpered. "The bad man, he's coming back--"

"That's why I'm gonna get you out of here, honey," Brass continued, keeping his tone gentle. "But I need you to do something for me first. I need you to get up and walk out of the cabin. Can you do that for me?"

The little girl shook her head. "Momma--"

"I know, honey, but I need to get you out of here first." He had an idea. "You know Lieutenant Brooks?"

Some of the panic leached from her eyes. "Uncle Alan?" she sniffled.

Brass smiled. "Yeah, Uncle Alan. He's waiting for you down the hill with all the deputies. You think you can go down there by yourself?"

Missy stared at her mother, her eyes swimming with tears. She finally nodded.

"Good girl," he said, holding out his hand. Very hesitantly, Missy took it and let him pull her to her feet. He guided her to the door. "Now, I want you to go through the door without touching it, okay? Once you're out, go straight down the hill -- you'll see the police cars on the road."

She looked up at him, terrified again. "Don't wanna go out there," she cried. "The bad man's out there."

Brass couldn't blame her for being scared; the kid had already been through enough to land any rational adult on the Thorazine Express. "Okay, honey," he sighed. "I'll take you down the hill. Now just slide through the doorway, and don't touch the door or the frame."

"O-okay." With his guidance, she went through the gap and waited for him outside the cabin. He turned sideways and edged through the doorway; just as he cleared it, something moved off to the side. He lunged in front of Missy and pulled his gun.

And stopped as Brooks raised his hands, the female deputy next to him already going for her own weapon. "Whoa up, hoss," the lieutenant said. "Thought you could use some help."

Missy dashed to the other man. "Uncle Alan!" she cried, wrapping her arms around his leg.

He leaned down and picked her up, hugging her. "Hey, punkin," he murmured. "Delilah's gonna take you down the hill to my car, all right? And I'm gonna help Jim here get your momma out of the cabin."

She wrapped her small arms around his neck, refusing to let go. "Bad man," she whispered.

He patted her back. "I know, punkin, and we're gonna catch him," he promised. "But we've got to get your momma to a hospital, all right? Delilah's one of my deputies -- she'll take care of you, and if she sees the bad man, well, she'll make sure he can't hurt you, right, Delilah?"

"Right, boss," the deputy said, hand dropping to her holster in a promise.

"Okay, you two go on, now." He handed the reluctant little girl to Delilah, and they started back down the hill. Once they were alone, Brooks' expression turned bleak. "Tell me he didn't touch her."

"I didn't see any bruises," Brass said. "But that doesn't say much. Looks like he took most of it out on Janine, though -- we better get her to an ER." He turned back to the doorway, then paused. "Oh, and don't touch the door -- there's a pipe bomb taped to the back of it."

Brooks stared at the door as if it'd grown a goat's head. "Oh Jesus Christ."

Getting the unconscious Janine outside turned into a life-sized game of Operation, as the lawmen cautiously eased her through the gap in the front door. Once all three were outside, a brisk wind sprang up, making Brass's cheeks sting with the cold as they pulled Janine into a chair carry and started down the hill. It wasn't until they were almost to the first police SUV that he realized what else a brisk wind could do.

Such as slam an open door against a wall.

Behind them, a bright series of flashes and a stuttering roar ripped through the night. Brass and Brooks were driven to their knees, instinctively huddling over Janine to protect her. Later, they realized that the door bomb had gone off first when the breeze blew it open, smacking it against the cabin wall. The window bombs went off immediately afterwards, belching a ball of flame into the Nevada sky.

The Homicide captain felt arms yank him up, pulling him behind an SUV as chunks of wood and debris rained down around them. Panting, he realized Brooks was next to him again, as two deputies carried Janine into the blast shadow of the vehicle. The lieutenant turned dazed eyes to him. "Good timing, huh?" he bellowed.

Brass touched his ear, distracted by the ringing. "What?"

"Good timing!"

"Oh. Yeah!"

"Boss." Delilah knelt in front of them, exaggerating her lip movements. "You okay?"

Brooks stuck a finger in one ear, wiggling it. "Yeah, just kinda deaf. I want you to get Janine and Missy over to St. Luke's," he ordered. "And stay with them -- get a local cop to spot you if you need to use the john."

The deputy nodded, turning and instructing her colleagues to load the battered woman into the SUV where Missy was already waiting. "We checked out Dr. Sterling's jeep and found this," she added, holding out a purse to Brass. "ID says it belongs to an Ellie Brass -- you know her?"

Brass felt his already stunned gut lurch again. He grabbed the purse out of Delilah's hands, digging for the wallet and flipping it open. The first thing he saw was a California driver's license with a familiar blonde sneering up at him.

"Oh, shit," he said weakly.


	8. Chapter 8

Entry #3 in the "A Year in the Life" series. The Brillows clan takes a somewhat unplanned family vacation, and run into trouble in a little mountain town called Jackpot. You know the drill -- CSI is not my sandbox. If it were, guest stars would be utilized more effectively.

* * *

99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall  
by Alice Day

* * *

CHAPTER EIGHT

From the outside, the pile of boulders appeared to be one of the natural outcroppings of glacial debris that dotted the local scenery, leftovers from the last Ice Age. About nine feet tall at its highest point, the black hulk merged into the nighttime monochrome of the surrounding hillside.

Sterling guided Ellie to the small stand of pines on the pile's downhill side, showing her how to slide between two of the prickly evergreens. From this viewpoint, the pile was something completely different -- an arrangement of slab-like stones tumbled against each other in a natural henge, with a narrow gap between two stones opening onto a sloping central area approximately five feet wide.

"This is the fort," the vet explained, propping the item he'd brought from the Jeep against a slab wall before easing her down to the ground. "Unless you know what you're looking for, you'd never find this place. The walls are pretty good at blocking noise, too, so we can talk as long as we keep it quiet."

"Great," Ellie gritted, fumbling with the laces on her boot.

He saw what she was doing and put his hand over hers, stopping her. "I'm sorry, but you can't take it off."

She glared at him. "My fucking foot is _killing_ me," she growled. "I've gotta get this thing off."

He shook his head. "If you take the boot off now, your foot will swell even more and you won't be able to get it back on," he said, his voice apologetic but firm.

Suddenly she understood -- in case they had to run again. "Shit," she moaned, leaning back against one of the cold slabs. "This night is just getting better and better."

"Tell me about it," Sterling said absently, hunting around in the upslope part of the fort. He picked up a folded square and shook it out, revealing an old army blanket. "Looks like Wilson Point isn't the only makeout spot anymore."

He refolded the blanket into a pad and brought it over to Ellie. "Good -- I'm freezing my ass off," she said.

"That's exactly what we're going to use it for," he said, putting the folded blanket on the ground. "Sit on it."

"Excuse me?"

"You lose up to thirty percent of your body heat if you sit or lie on the ground without insulation," he explained. "If you don't want to literally freeze your butt off, get on the blanket."

Frowning, she shifted around until she was seated on the musty old fabric. She had to admit, it was warmer than sitting on the ground.

"Move forward a little," he said.

"Let me guess -- you were a Boy Scout," she snapped, but did as he asked.

"Not exactly." To her surprise, he crawled behind her and sat down, his legs bracketing hers. "First off, don't worry, I'm not making a pass at you," he said. "But we're going to lose a lot of heat if we sit separately. Take off your jacket."

"What?"

Behind her, she could feel him opening his own coat. "Take off your jacket, and drape it over yourself like a blanket," he said patiently. "Then lean back against me."

Trying to keep her throbbing foot as still as possible, she slithered out of the leather jacket and did what he said, almost moaning in relief from the increased warmth. He tucked the ends of the jacket securely between them, then wrapped his open coat as far around her as possible, resting his hands on his bent knees. "Warmer?"

"Yeah," she admitted, trying to ignore the fact that she was pretty much cradled in his arms. _And legs._ _This should feel a lot weirder than it does. I dunno -- maybe I'm just too tired to care._

He touched the thin leather of her coat and tsked. "You need a real winter jacket," he said.

She snorted. "Yeah, next time some nutcase with a gun chases me around in February, I'll make sure I wear a parka."

His chest vibrated, and she realized he was laughing. "You did good for a city girl," he admitted.

"Thanks." She glanced at the stick leaning against the slab wall. "What is that thing? I thought it was a shotgun, but you weren't shooting back."

He hesitated. "I don't like shotguns," he finally said. "That's a hanbo. It can be used as a walking stick -- comes in handy when you're running down hills with an armed maniac on your tail."

She shuddered. "God. Why was he shooting at us?"

"I have no idea--"

A distant boom rolled through the night, and a dim flash lit up the inside of the fort for a few seconds. Ellie tensed, staring up at the rough circle of night sky framed by the stone walls. "What was that?"

"I don't know." Sterling fumbled in his coat pocket for his cell phone. "But it's time to call in the cavalry."

He hit a number and waited. "Voicemail. Of course," he muttered. "Alan, this is Dale. Look, I've got Ellie Brass with me -- someone shot out my Jeep on Snake Eyes Road, and we had to run for it. We made it to the fort, but the shooter's still out there, and from the sounds of things something got blown up nearby. If you could send someone to get us, I'd appreciate it -- thanks."

He clicked the phone shut. "That explosion's should have the cops and fire department up here pretty soon. With any luck, we'll get picked up in an hour or so," he said.

"Good." She leaned her head back against his shoulder, trying to relax. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Everything -- your Jeep getting shot up, you having to drag me through the woods. I should've told my dad to shove it and gone back inside, then none of this would've happened. It's just -- God, he just pisses me off so badly sometimes."

Sterling was quiet for a moment. "What happened in the parking lot?"

Ellie stared into the dark. _Well, he accused me of whoring it up on the dance floor -- oh, and apparently you're an abusive slimeball._ "It's...complicated," she said.

"Family usually is. Well, we have time. If you want to talk, I mean."

She shook her head gently. "Trust me, I'm gonna need more than an hour to explain it all," she said. _The fucked up life of Ellie Brass, volumes one through twenty-six. _

_But you know what? I'm tired, and cold, and my foot hurts, and we almost died tonight, and he asked. And if I talk, maybe I won't feel like crying so much._

She closed her eyes, wishing he'd put his arms around her. "Okay. See, there was this guy named Mike O'Toole, and he had an affair with my mom..."

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

Brass leaned heavily against the side of the SUV, watching Brooks direct the deputies on their new search. Up on the hill, a team of firefighters with hoses from a pumper truck worked on putting out the blaze in the cabin.

His fingers clutched the soft fabric of Ellie's purse. _All those years, I kept thinking that you were going to get killed on the streets by a john, or a dealer, or some coked-out bum. So what do I do? I bring you up to the ass end of Nevada, and now you're off in the woods with that freaking vet, and a survivalist whackjob is hunting you down._

_And it's all my fault. You were right to want to stay in LA -- every time I come into your life, something gets fucked up. Jesus Christ, why can't I ever do right by you?_

His misery was interrupted when Brooks jogged up. "Okay, the troops are going to start working the roads back into town," he said. "I can't send them into the woods, not with Moses out there, but at least they're patrolling. Dale isn't stupid -- if he and Ellie are okay, he'll get them somewhere safe."

Brass gave him a bleak look. "Yeah. If they're okay."

"We didn't find any blood in the Jeep," the lieutenant reminded him. "I'm working on the basis that they're both upright, breathing and intact. Now we just gotta find them."

The Homicide detective pulled out a cell phone from the purse, hefting it. "Would've been good if she actually had this on her," he said.

Brooks stared at the phone, then dug in his jacket pocket. "I'm a frigging idiot," he muttered, pulling out a cell phone and turning it on. The small device chimed, and its screen lit up with a tiny graphic of a cassette tape. "Yes. It's from Dale."

He hit the Connect button and listened to the recording. "Ha. You sly sonofabitch," he said, finally snapping the phone shut. "They're at the fort -- it's this hangout we had when we were kids, not fifteen minutes from here."

Something seemed to loosen in Brass's chest. "Is Ellie okay?"

"He didn't say she wasn't." Brooks thumbed his radio. "Okay, people, get on back here and form up with me -- we're heading towards Round Rock Road to pick up the doc and his dance partner. Stay on my tail, and keep an eye out for Moses -- the night ain't over yet."

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

The man crept through the scrub, trying to find the trail. The men of the Greater Nevada Militia prided themselves on their tracking skills; Willard Moses liked to think he was pretty damn good at it, but the dark and the low level of moonlight weren't helping one bit.

"Fucking cops," he said softly, staring at the ground. "Think they can push you around, make you do whatever they want. I'm a man of the land, goddamn it. Nobody tells me what to do -- not that bitch Janine, not her pig daddy. And not you, you spying, nosy fuck."

Of course, Janine and her little brat of a kid were dead, judging from that hellacious boom he'd heard. His truck was probably long gone, too, and the money hadn't even been at the damn cabin. Janine kept whining that her daddy hadn't told her where the money was, but he knew better. Cops were too stupid to keep secrets from their womenfolk. Hell, Jones had told her about the $75,000 in the first place, right? He would've told her where to find it.

"You just had to tell me where it was," he muttered. "But no, miss high and mighty, you were too good for that. You were gonna keep it all for yourself, weren't you?"

Too late now. The money was nowhere to be found, and his truck was gone, and the cops would probably pin the deaths of the Jones family on him. At least he'd take out two more pigfuckers before their buddies caught up with him.

He spotted a gouge in the dry, sandy topsoil. It pointed downhill, towards a field littered with old glacial boulders. Carefully, he made his way downslope, rifle at the ready. They were probably hiding behind one of the boulders, or maybe near the trees. Didn't matter -- he'd find them, one way or the other.

He stopped next to the biggest pile of rocks, peering around the small stand of pines downslope from it. "Come out, come out, wherever you are," he crooned.

Lights flashed farther down the hill, and he heard truck engines headed his way. He grinned into the cold night air. Maybe he'd get to take more than a couple of cops out, after all.

He slid down towards a boulder that was low and long, a perfect cover for a righteous man of the land. Kneeling behind it, he aimed his rifle towards the flickering lights and waited.

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

The first shot was just shy of the windshield. Cursing, Brooks slammed on the brakes, the SUV fishtailing along the gravel road. "Hang on," he roared, yanking on the wheel. With a shudder, the vehicle straightened out and he hit the gas. Something pinged hard against the rear end.

"Oh, I don't think so," he growled, grabbing the hand brake and spinning the steering wheel. The SUV slewed around in a J-turn, coming to a stop just short of a stand of trees. He slapped the light switch and the vehicle went dark.

Brass stared out at the shadowed countryside, trying to pick out Moses. All he could see were shapes on a dim hillside. "Where are we?"

"Maybe 300 yards past the intersection with Snake Eyes Road," Brooks said, pulling a rifle from the rack behind them. "I saw the muzzle flash -- sonofabitch is uphill. Get on the horn and warn our guys."

The Homicide captain grabbed the radio handset. "All units -- our shooter is about 300 yards past the intersection with Snake Eyes Road," he said. "He's uphill and has a good view of the road -- stop before you hit the clearing and take up defensive positions."

"Yeah, we're the only idiots with our asses hanging out," Brooks muttered, handing Brass a rifle. "Let's do this."

The lawmen opened the SUV doors and crouched behind them, aiming their weapons upslope and waiting for the next bullet.

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

"What was that?" Ellie said, panicked.

"Sounds like a rifle." Sterling slid out from behind her and went to the fort entrance as another shot cracked.

Buttoning his jacket, he moved silently into the pine stand, using the needled branches as cover. About twenty feet downslope, something man-sized moved in front of a low boulder. He could just make out a rifle barrel as it tracked the bouncing headlights of what looked like a Jackpot PD SUV on the road below, then fired.

The SUV swerved, plunging behind a thicket. Its lights abruptly went out.

_Dammit._ It had to be Brooks down there, coming to pick them up. From his position, on a night with a quarter moon, there was no way he'd be able to pinpoint Moses' location. When the rest of the police department arrived, the situation would undoubtedly turn into a blind shootout straight up the slope, in the hope of hitting Moses.

And directly uphill of Moses was the fort. It was unlikely that a random shot from a police rifle would make it into the enclosed area, but...

_But you're not willing to take that chance, not with Ellie in there._

Not when there was a simple way of stopping it. Sterling pulled out his cell phone and punched in a text message, then hit Send.

_For once in your life, Alan, just do what I ask. Please._

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

"Can you see him?" Brooks demanded.

Brass studied the dark slope. "I can't see shit."

"Dammit. This is gonna turn into a fucking siege if we can't figure out where he is--"

The lieutenant's words cut off as he twitched in surprise. Digging into his jacket, he pulled out a vibrating cell phone. "Text message," he muttered, reading it. "Oh, _hell_."

"What?"

Brooks flipped the phone, showing the screen to Brass.

ELLIE'S SAFE. DON'T SHOOT -- UPHILL FROM SHOOTER. DISTRACT HIM.

The first two words were pure relief. But the rest of the message-- "What the hell does 'distract him' mean?" Brass asked.

"It means that my coroner is about to do something stupid," Brooks said, squinting into the dark. "And I'm gonna have to help him, goddamnit."

He leaned into the SUV and pulled out the bullhorn, aiming it up the hill. "Willard Moses? This is Lieutenant Brooks of the Jackpot Police Department," he said, his words echoing up the foothills. "Put down your weapon and come down with your hands up."

A shot pinged off the road.

"Well, that got his attention," Brooks growled.

Brass forced himself to think. If Sterling was uphill from Moses, he had the tactical advantage, but only as long as Moses didn't know he was there. They needed a damned good distraction. "What really pisses these GNM types off?" he asked.

"You name it," Brooks said. "Democrats, our new president, gay marriage, uppity women, the military, Reno _and_ Vegas. Why?"

"Got an idea. Can I borrow that thing?"

"Be my guest."

Brass took the bullhorn and pushed the button. "Moses, this is Captain Brass from the Las Vegas Police Department," he said. "I dunno if you noticed this yet, but you're in a world of shit right now."

Another bullet ricocheted off a nearby tree.

"Man, your aim sucks ass," Brass mocked. "Guess I can't be too surprised, though -- you militia types don't really know how to target an enemy, do you? Too bad you were never in the Marines -- you might've learned something about proper sniper technique."

A volley of bullets hit the trees this time, and Brooks ducked lower behind the shelter of the SUV. "What the hell are you doing?" he hissed.

"I'm distracting him," Brass said, bringing the bullhorn back up. "Oh, come on -- you think more is better? My little girl can shoot better than you, you pissant."

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

Sterling slid back into the fort. "Sounds like Alan and your dad are here," he said. "Unfortunately, so's the guy with the rifle."

Ellie sucked in a breath when she heard her father's amplified voice taunting someone named Moses. "What is he _doing_?"

"What I told him to do," Sterling said, picking up the stick. "Wait here until one of us comes to get you. It'll be all right."

Her stomach went cold. "Doc--"

He leaned down, surprising her when his lips brushed across hers. "Thank you for the dance, Miss Brass," he said.

And then he was gone.

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

Some things you never really forgot.

Dale Sterling had been roaming the foothills around Jackpot for decades. Playing at the fort with Alan, Leland, Marty and his brothers when they were kids. Camping out and hunting when they were older. Bringing Doris to Wilson Point after prom, and that whole wonderful summer after graduation. And then, years afterward, the almost compulsive hiking, because it was the only thing that exhausted him to the point where he couldn't hear the screams in his sleep.

He moved silently, testing each footstep before putting weight on it. The solid length of red oak was comfortable in his hand, serving as a counterweight. Stealth was something he'd learned early on; smaller than the other boys, he could move quickly and easily across rough terrain. Many years later that skill was taken and focused, sharpened on those weekends with the men he'd saved, the ones who decided that it was a matter of honor to teach him their skills.

Test, step. Test, step. Fifteen feet.

One of them was a martial artist, skilled with the hanbo. He'd received one as a going away present, when it was time to return to Nevada and a patiently waiting Doris. A year later, when Alan took away the shotgun, he started keeping the hanbo in the Jeep instead.

Test, step. Test, step. Ten feet.

He could smell the other man, now, the rank sweat of fear and anger sharp in the cold air. He remembered the lessons; one sharp blow between the C2 and C3 vertebrae would shear them away from the base of the skull. Death was instantaneous, and everyone would be safe.

Test, step. Test, step. Five feet.

Of course, he wouldn't do that. He wasn't a murderer. The screams he heard in his nightmares proved that, if nothing else.

But he would make sure Ellie was safe. That much, he could do.

Test, step. Test, step.

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

"Oh, yeah, you're a big man," the amplified voice taunted. "Hiding behind a woman and a little kid, beating an old man to death. But that's what you militia types are like, right? You're all pansy-ass wannabes who were too stupid or weak to make it into the real military, so you play around in the woods and pretend to be heroes, then attack people who can't defend themselves. Yeah, real impressive."

"You fucker!" Moses screamed, finally goaded into blind rage. "You don't know shit about us! It's weak-ass faggots like you who are running this country into the ground, you hear me? We're the real patriots! We're the ones serving our country, not you! The founding fathers would spit on you, you mother--"

A loud whistling crack cut off the diatribe. Moses dropped the rifle and collapsed onto the ground, twitching from the blow to the back of his skull.

Above him, Sterling lowered the hanbo. "You don't know anything about serving your country, you dumb shit," he said tersely, picking up the rifle.

Almost as an afterthought, he peeked over the boulder. "Hey, Alan?" he called.

Silence. Then, "Yeah, Dale?" drifted up the hill.

"You might want to get up here and read your prisoner his rights."

A pause. "Yeah, I think I might do that. Uh -- he's still breathing, right?"

"Yup. Gonna have one hell of a headache when he wakes up, though. Thirty feet up from you, behind the long low boulder. You can't miss it."

Hefting the rifle, he turned and headed back up the hill. Ellie could safely take off her boot, now.


	9. Chapter 9

Entry #3 in the "A Year in the Life" series. The Brillows clan takes a somewhat unplanned family vacation, and run into trouble in a little mountain town called Jackpot. You know the drill -- CSI is not my sandbox. If it were, they would've done something about Ellie already, dammit.

* * *

99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall  
by Alice Day

* * *

CHAPTER NINE

As two of Brooks' deputies handcuffed the now-moaning survivalist, Brass ignored the throbbing headache behind his left eye and climbed further up the hill. He had it all planned out. First, he'd go into the "fort" and apologize to Ellie for acting like such a jerk. If additional groveling was necessary, well, she'd more than earned it. And, please God, she would forgive him, and tomorrow she'd go back to Vegas with him, and maybe he would convince her to stay and they could start working on this brand new gaping hole in their relationship.

That was the plan, anyway. It flew out the window the moment he slid through the narrow gap between two rocks, Brooks behind him, and saw Ellie sitting against a slab with the veterinarian kneeling between her ankles, fondling her bare foot.

A fine red mist settled in front of Brass's eyes. "What the _hell_ are you doing to my daughter?" he grated.

Ellie glanced at him, the relief on her face morphing to irritation. "Yeah, nice to see you, too, Dad," she said.

Sterling turned and gave him an annoyed look. "I think she has two broken toes," he said. "She's going to need help getting down the hill."

Brass's jaw clenched. "Fine," he said through his teeth. "Let go of her, and I'll get her down to the cars."

Sterling ignored him, gently palpating her foot.

The Homicide captain heard a crackling noise; dimly, he realized it came from his white-knuckled fists. "Maybe you didn't hear me," he rasped. "Get your fucking hands off my kid, or I'll take them off at the elbows."

"Dad!" Ellie yelled.

Carefully, Sterling laid her foot on the discarded boot and stood up, a glint in his eye. "Try it," he invited.

Growling, Brass was nose to nose with him before Brooks could shoulder between them. "Okay, both of you, knock it off!" he ordered, shoving them apart. "I have had one hell of a night, and refereeing you two idiots is not in my damn job description!"

Reluctantly, the two men backed off. "_I'll_ get Ellie down the damn hill," the lieutenant continued. "Dale, you ride back with me. Jim, you and Ellie go back with Andy. We'll meet up at the PD and get all this hashed out, all right?"

"Fine," Sterling said.

"Great," Brass agreed. "As long as he stays the hell away from my kid."

"Hey!"

All three men turned to Ellie, who was now up and balancing on her still-booted foot. "Let's get a couple of things clear _right now_," she said, hanging onto the slab wall as she pointed a finger at Brass. "Number one, _I am not a kid_. Either you treat me like an adult, or you stay out of my damn life."

Brass stared at his daughter, his anger stuttering to a halt. The petulant look that had been Ellie's default expression for years was gone, now, replaced by a frightening determination. She meant every word; she would cut him cleanly out of her life.

In the back of his mind, he could hear Catherine, clear as day: _this is your last chance, Jim. Don't fuck it up._

He sucked in a breath...

...held it...

...and let it go.

"You're right. You're not a kid," he said slowly. "I don't know why I keep treating you like one. I just...I worry. That's not an excuse, it's just what I do. I'm your dad, and I worry about you -- I always have, I always will. But that's my problem, not yours. And I shouldn't have pulled you out of the lounge -- that was wrong. And I'm sorry."

She folded her arms across her chest. "Good," she said. "That's a start. Number two -- Dr. Sterling saved my life a _couple_ of times tonight. So you might want to try thanking him instead of tearing his head off."

_Pour some salt on the wound, why don't you, Ellie?_ But Brass turned to the still-angry vet. "Thank you for saving my daughter's life," he said, his voice low.

"You're welcome," Sterling muttered, glancing at Ellie. She raised an eyebrow. "Mrph. And thank you for distracting Moses," he added ungracefully.

Brass risked a look at his daughter. "Yeah, well, apparently I'm really good at annoying people," he said. To his relief, Ellie's lips twitched.

"Great," Brooks announced, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. "Now that this heartwarming moment is over, can we get the hell back to town? I'm freezing my ass off out here."

Balancing carefully, Ellie leaned over and picked up her discarded boot. "That sounds like a damn good idea," she said. "And Dad? You're riding with Lieutenant Brooks. The doc and I can ride with Andy."

The other men looked at him, waiting for his reaction. After a moment, Brass nodded. "If that's what you want, Ellie," he said, surprising himself. "I'll see you back at the station. Just be careful coming down the hill, all right?"

He turned and left the fort. _Seems like o__ld cops can learn new tricks, after all._

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

Around 3:00 AM, Brass finally found himself standing in front of the bathroom mirror at Leland's house, brushing his teeth and musing over the aftermath of the evening.

Delilah had radioed in from the hospital; Missy was fine, and while Janine would need some physical therapy, she'd recover. Brooks planned on going over there in the morning and interviewing her about her role in her father's murder. "I don't know if this was just a slip of the lip or what, but we're gonna have us a long heart-to-heart about her scumbag boyfriend," he said to Brass back at the station.

"Good. So what happens to Mack's money?" Brass asked.

The lieutenant scratched his chin. "It all depends on what happens to Janine. If she's convicted on felony murder, it'll go to Missy. If it turns out Janine was a victim, well, it goes to her. She'll have to find a way to live with the fact that it's covered with her daddy's blood."

The Homicide detective nodded. "So...where is the money, anyway?"

Brooks smirked. "Who knows," he said. "All I know is, it's a good thing we installed a new evidence locker just before Mack retired. Lots of room for secure storage."

"I'll bet."

Both Moses and Ellie paid a visit to the St. Luke's ER; the survivalist was x-rayed, pronounced moderately concussed, and admitted to the secure ward for observation prior to his transfer to the county jail. The nice young ER doctor then taped Ellie's toes, explained the acronym RICE (Rest, Ice, Compression and Elevation), and told her to stay off her feet for the next few days. When Ellie explained that she was a bartender and being on her feet was part of her job, the doctor offered to write a note. Ellie just shook her head and sighed.

She was now ensconced in the small bedroom's bottom bunk, a pillow propped under her foot. Lindsey was doing a fairly good imitation of a nurse/ladies' maid, and Brass heard them laughing together when he passed their door on his way to the bathroom. _Now that, I didn't expect. Maybe this trip was a good idea, after all._

He spat out the minty foam and rinsed his mouth. Now it was time for the hard part.

Catherine was already in bed with a forensics journal when he came in. She looked up, giving him a small smile. "Don't look so worried -- I'm not going to bite your head off," she said.

"I earned it," he admitted. _Time to pull on the Apologizin' Panties and commence to groveling._ "Baby, I'm sorry about what I said--"

Catherine held up a hand, and he stopped. "Jim, I think I need to know something if we're going to go any further together," she said. "Does it really bother you that I used to be a stripper?"

He sat down on the bed next to her. "No, baby, it doesn't," he said humbly. "I don't know why I said that -- hell, I've been in enough strip bars myself as a customer. I know it's just a job."

"And a well-paying job at that," she said. "But it's a job you don't want your daughter to have. Or your girlfriend."

He winced at the on-point thrust. "Catherine, I'd be a hypocrite if I said I was fine with it," he admitted. "I can't help being old-fashioned, honey -- I want to protect the women I love, and that includes stopping scumbags from doing hootch dances with them." He scowled unhappily. "Even if the scumbag did save her life."

Catherine's eyebrow went up. "That was a rather impressive hootch dance, and I speak from professional experience," she said crisply. "And your information about the scumbag is inaccurate." She explained what Doris had told them at the diner.

Brass groaned. "Oh, great. So I have to apologize to him, too?"

"Might be nice. He did save Ellie's life, after all."

The captain lay back, grumpily contemplating the bedroom ceiling. "Okay," he finally said. "I think she wants to say good-bye to him tomorrow, so I'll do it then. Assuming he doesn't take a swing at me."

"I don't think you have to worry about that." Catherine stretched out next to him, resting her head on his chest. "I don't know if anyone bothered to tell you this tonight, but you're a damned good man to have around, Captain Brass."

"Not all that good. But I try." He wrapped his arm around her, kissing the top of her head. "Happy Valentine's Day, Cath."

She looked up with a smile, her blue eyes lambent in the glow of the bedside lamp. "Happy Valentine's Day, Jim."

She snuggled closer, and Brass closed his eyes, content.

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

Ellie carefully climbed out of the Highlander the next morning, making sure her right foot took the brunt of her weight. She'd woken up hoping that Lindsey had a pair of sneakers she could borrow, since there was no way she could get her taped toes into the boots.

As it turned out, there was a pair of comfortable blue boat shoes waiting outside the bedroom door, courtesy of Dad and an early morning run to a nearby Walmart. _Okay, he's getting better at the whole apology thing._

Zipping her jacket, she limped up to the clinic door, Brass in tow. He paused, studying the weatherbeaten exterior with a dubious eye. "So this is where the magic happens," he commented.

"Dad," she chided.

He held up his hands. "Just kidding."

She shook her head as they went in. "Hello?" she called. "Doc?"

"Be right with you," came from the exam room.

Ellie grinned. "Wait here," she said to Brass, and headed into the exam room. She found Sterling trying to wrap an enormous -- and very unwilling -- black cat in an old bath towel; the vet's glasses were halfway down his nose from the effort.

Sterling glanced up at her, his head tilted back comically as he wrestled with the squirming animal. "Oh, good. I was hoping I'd see you before you left," he said. "Sorry about this -- I'm trying to prep J.J. for an anal gland expression and he's not," the vet grunted, recapturing a flailing paw and sticking it under the towel, "cooperating. Um, could you please push my glasses back up?"

She put her index finger on his nose bridge and eased them back into position. _Goodbye Jack Bauer, hello Dr. Cooper. _"Want some help?"

Sterling flashed her a grateful look. "Please. Put one hand on his back, then grab his scruff with the other and shake his head very gently, just enough to get his attention."

She did, ignoring the cat's offended yowls. Moving quickly, Sterling lifted the cat's tail and inserted his gloved index finger in the appropriate place, squeezing out a thick, dark blob from one impacted anal gland. The cat's yowls turned operatic.

"Okay, one more," he said, wiping his glove off on the discarded towel. Once the other gland was expressed, Ellie carefully released the cat's scruff and rubbed his ears, earning a grumbling purr.

Sterling stripped his gloves off, tossing them into a trash bin before rinsing his hands in the exam room sink. "Once again, you've been a lifesaver," he said, coming back and scratching the cat's chin. The purr turned into a motorboat rumble. "I don't suppose you'd like a job as a vet technician? The pay is mediocre, but you'd get your own lab coat and my undying gratitude."

Ellie sensed something slightly wistful under the joke. "I think I'd need a degree for that kind of job, wouldn't I?" she asked.

"Well, yes, but Great Basin is only forty-five minutes away and I think office work could be applied towards your degree." He shrugged. "Of course, you'd have to live in Jackpot, which might be considered something of a drawback after Vegas and LA."

She cocked her head to the side, giving him a crooked smile. "Oh, I don't know about that," she said. "There's definitely one thing I like about Jackpot."

Sterling blinked at her in surprise. Before he could say anything, Brass stuck his head through the door. "Ellie, honey, we need to get on the road," he said. "And I still need to talk to the doc."

_Great timing, Dad._ She held out her hand to the vet. "Well, it was nice meeting you, Dr. Sterling."

He took her hand and squeezed it gently. "Likewise, Miss Brass. Oh, wait." He pulled open a drawer and took out a business card. "If you want to talk some more about vet tech positions, here's my contact information -- please call or email me if you have any questions."

_Bingo._

She tucked the card in her jacket pocket. "Thanks, Doc," she said smoothly. "And now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I'm going to haul my gimpy self back to the car before my foot explodes." Giving her dad a warning look, she left.

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

Brass watched his daughter limp off, then rubbed the back of his head and sighed. _Here we go._

"Uh, hi, Doc," he muttered. "Look, I'm sorry I acted like such an asshole last night. I was just worried about Ellie."

Sterling shrugged. "That's okay. I probably would've done the same thing in your shoes. And I'm sorry I got in your face like that -- I was on adrenaline overload." He leaned back against the counter. "Um, about Ellie -- I really hope she doesn't mind me telling you this, but we talked for awhile last night while we were waiting. She didn't go into details, but I got the impression the last few years haven't been easy for her."

Brass grimaced. "Yeah, you can say that again."

"Mm. She's really strong, you know. That's a good thing, but sometimes it also makes it hard to ask for help. And she's going to need some help, whether she likes it or not." The vet gave him a sober look. "With two broken toes, she really should be off her feet for a couple of days at least, which is going to make traveling difficult, not to mention tending bar. If you don't push her on it, I think she'd be willing to stay in Vegas."

The Homicide detective went very still. "You think so?"

"Yup. But I'm serious about not pushing it. Let her have some space, make up her own mind. If you can do that, it'll be easier for her to stay."

Brass took a deep breath, feeling a flicker of hope. "That's good to know, Doc -- thanks." He fidgeted with his jacket zipper. "Uh, did she say anything else I should know?"

The vet smiled a little. "Well, she said that she loves you, even though you drive her up the wall sometimes."

"Yeah, can't blame her on that one. It's nice to get outside confirmation, though."

"Of what -- that she loves you, or that you drive her up the wall?"

"Both, I guess. I'll have to keep working on the second one."

Sterling nodded. "Good choice. I think you're stuck with the whole love thing, myself."

"Believe me, I'm not complaining." Brass glanced around the exam room, noting the dusty shelves stacked with vet supplies. "Hey, Doc, can I ask you kind of a personal question?"

"Shoot."

"What are you doing here?"

Sterling frowned. "I don't understand."

Brass studied the other man. "Grissom told me a little bit about you," he admitted. "You're a smart guy, and judging from the pictures in your waiting room you do good work. So what are you doing in a boring little burg like Jackpot?"

The vet's expression went opaque, and he absently rubbed his arm. "It's kind of a long story," he said. "Let's just say I've had enough excitement in my life and leave it at that. Besides, Jackpot's my home town -- I like it here."

"Oh." Brass shook his head. "Sorry -- no offense."

"None taken." The cat gave an inquisitive meow, and Sterling picked him up. "Well, I'd better get J.J. back to his owner. I'm glad we got a chance to talk, Mister Brass."

"Me too, Doc," Brass said, offering his hand. The vet shook it firmly. "Take care of yourself."

"You, too. And good luck with Ellie."

"Thanks. I'm gonna need it."

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

Four hours later, the Highlander was parked at a truck stop near Ely, fueling up. Catherine stood next to the gas pump, dividing her attention between the rapidly clicking numbers and her daughter and Brass trading quips as they browsed the drinks cooler inside the shop.

The Highlander's rear door opened, and Ellie got out. "God, I can't feel my butt anymore," she groaned, leaning against the car as she stretched.

"Yeah, that's the one thing that really sucks about road trips," Catherine said. "Well, that and the fact that everyone usually hates everyone else by the time the trip's over."

Ellie snorted. "Good thing we got _that_ out of the way early."

Catherine grinned at her. "That's one way of looking at it. How are your toes."

"They hurt, but I'll live." She hesitated, glancing at the shop. "Um...could I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Dad told you what I did in LA, right? I mean, my old job."

Catherine gave her a sober nod. "Yeah, he did."

Ellie took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "Okay, so, do you think it's a stupid idea if I wanted to go back to school or something?" she asked. "I mean, 'hooker turns life around, gets a degree' -- it sounds like some lame chick flick on the Oxygen channel, right?"

"Ex-hooker," Catherine pointed out, "and I don't think it's stupid at all. Besides, didn't your dad ever tell you about the stripper who went to night school and became a criminalist?"

Ellie's eyebrows went up. "No. That really happened?"

"Yep. I think I was about your age, too."

Her jaw dropped open. "You're shitting me. _You_ were a stripper?"

"One of the headliners at the French Palace. Now look at me -- CSI supervisor for the grave shift." She tilted her head. "Granted, it took me about twenty years to get here, but I am living, strutting proof that you can do whatever you want if you're willing to work for it."

"Huh." The younger woman's hand closed over her jacket pocket, as if checking for something. "Yeah, that's good to know. Thanks."

The gas pump shut off. "You're welcome," Catherine said, unhooking the hose as Brass and Lindsey strolled up with six packs of bottled water and Diet Coke.

"Okay," Brass said cheerfully, kissing the strawberry blonde on the cheek and handing her a bottle of water. "We are refreshed, recharged and ready to roll. Ladies, in the chariot, s'il vous plait. Let's get the hell out of here and back to civilization."

Minutes later, the Highlander was back on Highway 93, heading south and home.

**CSICSICSICSICSICSICSI**

"Are we there yet?"

_"Lindsey!"_

* * *

**A/N: Man, I'm sorry it took so long to get the last chapters up -- Real Life Drama, dontchaknow. In any case, I hope you enjoyed this entry in the "A Year In The Life" series -- I'm already working on the next one, I promise. And yes, Ellie and the doc will be making an appearance in future stories -- can't lay all this background and not use it, after all.**

**Oh, and while I'm 48 minutes late for this -- happy birthday, Paul!**


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